


Scutwork

by VicenteValtieri



Series: A Thousand Lives Unlived [8]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin - Freeform, M/M, Manipulation, Self-Loathing, degredation, self-disgust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-02-23 20:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 24,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13197849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VicenteValtieri/pseuds/VicenteValtieri
Summary: Starscream: Proud, arrogant, and spiteful. But that's just his shell, just the outside he shows to the world. Inside, he has no sense of self-esteem, no value in his own optics... and Megatron knows that, and uses it.Will a mission to undermine the Autobots end with Starscream deeper in the pit he dug for himself?Note for Chapter 17: I Slap Floor





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I Slap Floor = April Fools

“Anyway, I almost got busted when Starscream appeared out of nowhere around a corner.”

Optimus Prime reviewed the feed Jazz had sent. “Why was Starscream in the basement levels of the Nemesis?”

“Doing scutwork, I suppose.” Jazz was kicked back. “He surprised me. It won’t happen again.”

“Scutwork? He’s Megatron’s Second in Command.” Optimus looked at Jazz. “Why is he doing scutwork? No, don’t answer- another mutiny attempt.”

“Bingo.” Jazz grinned. “He’ll never learn.”

“Let’s hope he never does.” Optimus sat in his chair, staring at the screen. “I don’t want to think of what would happen if they managed to combine their processor power instead of opposing each other.”

“Amen to that.” Ratchet muttered.

 

“Starscream.” Megatron spoke softly out of the darkness. When the Seeker, who had just come in from a shift of Scutwork in the lowest parts of the Nemesis, stilled with his servo on the light, he smirked. “I can smell you from here.”

“Cleaning the filtration tanks isn’t clean work.” The Seeker’s fear-response to the dark room was delicious, but he would never turn on the light unless his Master gave him the order. “I was going to wash before I came to your quarters.”

“Of course. Go ahead.” Megatron smiled. “But leave the lights off. Your obnoxious voice has given me a processor ache.”

The Seeker didn’t even wince at the insult, just maneuvered through his quarters to wash off. This was the side of him that no one suspected. As soon as he had washed the stink of Cybertronian sewers off of his plating, he went to his vanity in the dark. This would be difficult without his optics, but he would manage. Feeling for his canister of glossy, he shook it twice before spraying it out over his faceplates – hoping not too much of it had splashed elsewhere. In the dark, he couldn’t see the color of the make up he was using, so he had no idea what he was doing to himself as he tried to paint his lipplates and the housing around his optics. 

Megatron turned the lights on when he came out and took in the mess Starscream had made of his faceplates. 

“…Am I acceptable?” Starscream whispered.

“Of course not, you’re hideous. I can see straight through your veneers, you know that.” Megatron cupped his helm, physical touch belying his words. “But I suppose you’re trying. Tu, tu, Starscream, why do you constantly defy me?”

“In order to show the others what it means to betray you, Megatron.” Starscream continued to murmur, keeping his voice under control. “It’s the only way I’m useful to you.”

“Not the only way. But the best way. I will need your opinion on a project, one that requires finesse.”

“I will do my best, Megatron.”

“Of course, as you always do.” And the warlord rewarded his pet with another tender stroke.

 

“Why do you think he does it?” Bumblebee questioned Jazz. “Starscream, I mean. He has to know he’s never going to win against Megatron.” 

“Perhaps that’s why he does it, Bee. So Megatron doesn’t get the satisfaction, even if he never gets what he wants.” Jazz patted his shoulder. 

“It doesn’t make sense. Why doesn’t he just leave? He can’t like what Megatron does if he’s so determined to overthrow him.”

“He doesn’t like Autobots any more than Megatron, I bet. The Decepticons have reasons to be Decepticons, just like we have reasons to be Autobots”

“It just doesn’t seem right. I don’t like it.”

 

Starscream mewled in helpless pleasure through his lip-paint smudged lipplates. One of Megatron’s denteas had split the lower one and energon leaked over his chin. Megatron was worrying at his neck cables and nipping at his fuel lines as his huge servos wandered, playing his frame like an instrument, with pinches and bites that bled down over his plating.

Why Megatron did this was beyond Starscream. He had asked, time and again, why anyone would interface with something so base and disgusting as he was. But if this was how he could serve, then it was more than he deserved.

Especially when Megatron’s growling, almost violent voice was in his audial – one servo around his neck and the other dug cruelly into his valve – and he ordered. “Overload for me, Starscream.”

 

“Starscream and Megatron working together…” Wheeljack murmured to Ratchet as they lay curled up in each other. “The very idea gives me chills.”

“Never gonna happen.” Ratchet assured his mate. “Not in a million years.”

“In my processor, I believe you, but I’ve been thinking… what if all the rebellion and mutiny is a front? What if Starscream is devoted to Megatron and we’ve just been missing it all this time?”

“That would be quite the gambit.”

“I suppose it is unlikely. Night, Hatchet.”

“Don’t call me that.” Ratchet sighed and squeezed Wheeljack gently. “Night, Jackie.”

 

“Look at you.” Megatron smirked, staring down at Starscream. “Completely wrecked.” The Seeker was spread out and entirely open after the warlord’s ministrations. Megatron’s transfluid poured out of his open valve and mixed with his lubricants. “Get yourself cleaned up and report to my quarters. I have a new mission for you.”

“A… mission?” Starscream dazedly sat up. It had been eons since he had had a mission. 

“Yes. Come to my quarters when you’re in a fit state to hear about it.”

Still dazed, Starscream staggered into his washracks and began scrubbing himself off. A mission. He hadn’t had a mission since he had brought down Sentinel Prime. Disgusting old mech. Lower than he was.

 

“You know, I knew Starscream before the war.” Jazz commented to Prowl.

“What?” Prowl looked over at him. “Why have you never mentioned it before?”

“No reason. Wasn’t relevant. We worked at the same interface club. I was music, he was dance.”

“Disgusting. Why am I not surprised?”

“He was okay, actually. Had a streak of pride, but all the dancers had that. Only way to survive.”

“What brings it up?”

“Seeing him do scutwork reminded me of him on the pole somehow.”

“Well, don’t feel too sorry for him.”

“No worries, Prowler. I’ll keep my processor in its space.”

 

“The Prime? But, Megatron…” Starscream hesitated. 

“Do you think you can’t do it?”

“It’s not that. I know I can. It’s simply-“

“You are afraid that once you do this, I will no longer desire you?”

“…Yes, my lord.”

“Never fear, Starscream. You can never make yourself less in my optics. I have always known you for filth.”

Starscream nodded soberly. “But this… Even Sentinel…”

“It is because Optimus is my longest rival, is it? Then think of yourself only as the bullet I am firing at Optimus. A bullet with optical shutters and sinful curves.” Megatron gripped one of his hips a tad too hard. “I will have Hook give you a complete work over and provide you with a new supply of cosmetics. You’ll need your veneer for Prime. He has piercing optics.”

“Not like yours, Megatron. He will not see who I am.” Starscream promised.

 

Optimus stared down at the footage once more. He didn’t know why he kept coming back to the few seconds of video of Starscream – working alone – on the filtration system. A punishment for a mutiny, and one he would not hesitate to use himself, but…

Perhaps it was the handprints on the Seeker’s hips, the fingers spread like a butterfly’s wings. Perhaps it was the limp or the bloody bitemark over his wing. 

He felt horribly sympathetic to Starscream’s plight.


	2. The Starry Night

Starscream laid on Hook’s table, lips pursed together as the perfectionist worked on him. Hook might have been one of the very few Decepticons who had sussed out the true nature of Megatron’s game with Starscream, but he knew to keep his vox box muted.

“Who is he sending you after this time?” Hook worked on re-lining his valve. In times of old, he might have re-sealed it as well, but not this time. 

“I can’t say, Hook.” Starscream quietly answered.

“’Course not. What was I thinking?” Hook sighed. “Capture or kill mission?”

“More like… lure.” 

“So, no boosts to your weapons systems?”

“Won’t need them.” Starscream murmured.

 

“From now on, every time Optimus Prime goes for a drive, I want you to be there. Shadow him, learn him, understand how he operates, and then strike as only you know how.” Megatron instructed. “You will have all the help I can give you.”

“Good, because I have an idea, Megatron, for the first time Optimus Prime finds me.” Starscream explained. “Optimus Prime’s pity will drive him to my side for our first interaction.”

“And if he decides to take you to the Autobot base?” Megatron questioned. “If I have to rescue you?”

“Then I expect I will be punished… severely.” Starscream responded, with absolute truth.

“Good. When you are ready to act, tell me and I will aid you.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

 

Optimus Prime often went on long drives alone. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be gone from the Ark for hours. 

However, distant screams were certainly uncommon, as was cursing that sounded distinctly like Megatron. Optimus transformed and raised a pair of binoculars to his optics. The trees blocked his view, but he could see that some were disturbed not far from his position. “Oh, no…” He whispered, transforming and driving towards the disturbance. Before he could comm Red Alert, though, he spotted Megatron rocketing off into the air. Optimus transformed once again and took a few careful steps towards the clearing Megatron had created with his wrath. He could see someone’s slumped and broken figure buried in the rubble of destroyed trees. 

Optimus approached with care. Only a fool snuck up on a Decepticon – even an offline one – like this. “…Starscream?”

The Seeker mech had been destroyed. One wing had a deep fusion burn on it, there was energon running over his faceplates from a cut, and his left servo was crushed. Worst, though, and what made the spectacle really sick was the transfluid. The silvery liquid was spattered on Starscream’s face, cockpit, and wings. With apprehensive optics, Optimus found the Seeker’s torn modesty panel and the energon that was sluggishly pushing its way out of the exposed valve.

Optimus knelt beside Starscream and began digging him out of the rubble. As he did, the Seeker woke up and struggled. “Where? Optimus Prime!” He hissed, good arm coming up with his null ray armed.

Optimus caught the instinctive wrist and felt the arm go slack. Starscream barely had the strength to lift it. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Starscream laughed harshly as he continued to clear his frame. “That’s what they all say.”

Optimus finally slid the Seeker out of the rubble pile and moved him to a clear patch to examine his injuries. “Primus. You need a medic.”

“I need nothing of the kind.” Starscream sniffed. “Go away. I can take care of myself.”

“I understand shame and fear, Starscream, but you can’t even lift a servo right now.” Optimus pulled out a first aid kit and several cleaning cloths.

“Hah! I have nothing to be ashamed of.” The Seeker pointedly turned his helm away. 

“I’m inclined to agree, but I don’t think you quite believe what you’re saying.” Optimus wiped away the drying energon and transfluid from his cockpit. It seemed Megatron had concentrated his abuse on the Seeker’s extremities, likely because he didn’t want to kill Starscream.

Optimus was surprised to find that his rag came away with large streaks of make-up when he was cleaning Starscream’s face. Of course, given the Seeker’s legendary vanity, he shouldn’t have been too surprised, but still.

Optimus carefully cleaned the Seeker and treated his wounds, but when he came to his valve, he stopped. “I don’t think there’s anything more that I can do for you.”

Starscream edged himself up onto a braced servo and sat against a tree. “What do you want?”

“A thank you might be nice.” Optimus sighed, sitting against another trunk. “But I shouldn’t expect-“

“Thank you.” Starscream shocked him. “Now leave me alone.”

“I can’t just leave you here. Not like… this.”

Starscream’s lipplates trembled and he turned his faceplates away. “Like what, Prime? Do you think I can’t take care of myself – pfft. Go away.”

“No.” Optimus stayed where he was. “Not until you get up and fly away.”

Starscream hissed angrily, but he wasn’t turned far enough away to hide the coolant running into the black painted lines beneath his optics and carrying the darker color down his cheekplates.

Optimus waited until the tears seemed to stop. “Why do you stay with him, if he treats you like this?”

“And where do you suggest I go, Optimus Prime?” He put a nasty emphasis on his name.

“…You would find asylum at the Ark.”

“In exchange for information, no doubt.” The Seeker drawled.

“No. Though that would make things easier. Why should you be loyal to him when he’s done nothing for you?”

Starscream turned burning optics on Optimus and rose to his pedes. “It’s not to him that I gave my loyalty.”

 

Megatron welcomed Starscream back after he had a long trip to the medbay to complete Optimus Prime’s field-repairs. “Well?”

“It seems he pities me. As expected. He offered me asylum – freely.”

“Good. When do you think it would be wise to stage another ‘punishment’?”

“After our next raid.” Starscream decided. “I’ll do something appropriately stupid during our battle and you can drag me away. The Prime is sure to follow.”

“If you’re certain, then I’m in more of a mind to reward than punish you at the moment.” Megatron’s servos went to Starscream’s shoulders.

“Of course, my Lord.” Starscream shifted back into his touch. He hated the physical act of interface – the spraying transfluid and the invading spike – but he got high off of his Lord’s pleasure, and the attention he was paid during it. 

 

Optimus didn’t recharge well that night. Every time he closed his optics, he saw splattered transfluid and energon over a painted face. In his recharge, the words he spoke to Starscream and that Starscream replied with were different and their meeting ended differently. 

He sat up abruptly, guilt forcing him awake. How could he? Stumble upon a raped mech in the woods and imagine interface? He splashed his face with cold solvent and took himself to task at length. With that dream lingering in the back of his processor, he wasn’t going to get any more recharge, so he might as well get up. 

He couldn’t call himself a good mech with that kind of thought in his processor, so he banished it far away, to the deepest pit of his mind, and focused on paperwork.

 

Starscream was much more resigned when Optimus was putting him back together after the disastrous raid on a nuclear plant. Disastrous for the Decepticons, that was. Starscream had accidentally missed Cliffjumper with a payload of spread bombs and hit his own trinemates. 

Megatron had dragged him off the battle field with murder on his mind and, when Optimus could, he had followed to find Starscream almost unconscious. Which might account for the resignation. 

“… Sap, you know that?” Starscream mumbled.

“I suppose, but I’ve always thought that compassion repays itself.” Optimus told the Seeker.

“You’re an idiot.” He shifted and tried to sit up, vents coughing. “But thank you.”

“Stay down for now. You’re injured internally.” Optimus warned him.

“Nothing I haven’t survived before.” Starscream sighed, settling against a tree like before. Optimus noted that his glossy lippaint had been smeared. Somehow, he could imagine Megatron with the same color tainting his lipplates after forcing his kiss on Starscream.

“You shouldn’t have had to.” He spoke without thinking. “Why does he do this to you?”

“I’m his traitor.” Starscream answered. “And he’s a huge, stupid bastard with a lamed processor. Of course, he hates me. If he didn’t, he would have to recognize my claim.”

“…You must have followed him for a reason.”

“There was a time when he said and did all the right things, Optimus Prime. Megatron was a hero.” Starscream replied, touching his aching side. “Before this.”

Optimus nodded. “When the Senate and Council fell, I asked him to negotiate. He never came.”

“Why would he? We don’t trust the Primes and we won’t bow to you.” Starscream summoned some defiance.

“The last thing I want, Starscream, is for you to bow to me.”

The Seeker was taken aback briefly. “Whatever. That’s what they all say.”

“But I mean it.”

The Seeker pushed himself up against the tree and steadied himself. “I have to get back. Primus knows the place would fall apart without me.”

“Probably.” Optimus sadly watched him go.

 

“Has he taken the bait?” Megatron touched a deep bite mark in the Seeker’s neck.

“Completely. I think it’s time for phase two. This may take some time, my Lord, and his sympathy must not be allowed to fade.”

“If there are opportunities for a punishment, I will make sure they are carried out where he could stumble upon you, Starscream. Of course.” Megatron pressed the mark until it ached the same as if he still had his denteas sunk in there. “Until then, do as you see fit.”

“Of course.”

 

Optimus had stumbled upon Starscream recovering from another of Megatron’s punishments twice more before he went out for a night drive. Sometimes, he just needed to see the stars and be alone.

He wasn’t prepared for what he found. 

Starscream was sitting on an overlook, legs dangling off the side of what was easily a six-hundred yard drop, staring down into the abyss. Unlike his other encounters with him, Starscream seemed uninjured and almost peaceful, though there were coolant tracks down his faceplates, outlined with that same, black paint. There was a flare of red lippaint and energon on his faceplates and, as Optimus studied him, it was clear he had decorated himself for some reason.

Starscream sighed and shifted forward a little, still staring. Optimus felt a flash of fear. Cybertronians were resilient, but they weren’t made to fall for thousands of feet – least of all the light-armored flyers such as Seekers. “No!” He rushed forwards and grabbed Starscream about the chassis, dragging him back from the edge.

Starscream gave a surprised and angry squawk. “What the -! Optimus Prime!?” He began struggling. “Let go of me!”

“Not until I’m certain you won’t do something stupid!” Optimus hissed.

“Oh, stupid, am I?!” Starscream wiggled around in his grasp to push against the windshield. “Let me go, you brute!”

Optimus got a good look at the make-up on Starscream’s faceplates. The lippaint was smeared, dark red on gunmetal grey, and the Seeker’s lower lip was split from a blow. “Primus, what happened to you?”

The mention of what had happened seemed to make the Seeker still as he vented, deep and hard. “None of your business.”

“Was it Megatron?”

“Who else is it?” The Seeker flippantly replied. “What do you care?”

“Because you were ready to throw yourself off a cliff over it!”

“I can bloody fly, Prime.”

“That doesn’t mean you would.” 

Starscream loosened his arms suddenly and slipped out of Optimus’s grip. Standing, he turned back towards the cliff, arms folded. “…He’s found someone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have optics, Optimus Prime. Use them.”

“…You and Megatron… even after all he’s done to you?”

Starscream took a deep in-vent through his nose. It was NOT a sniffle. It wasn’t. “He was everything to me. You don’t- You can’t cast that off so soon.”

“But the mutinies? You tried to kill him…”

“Do you honestly think I’m capable of that?” Starscream turned back to him. “I had to get his attention somehow.”

“…I don’t understand.” Though he did, in a strange way.

“Primus, are you really going to make me spell this out?” Starscream snapped. “Megatron is so focused on the war that he never had time for me anymore and he stopped listening to me! I had to get his attention somehow! To stop him from driving our faction into the ground, and…”

“And because you missed him.”

Starscream and the forest fell silent. “...But nothing’s worked. I thought… If I went to him, like this, I could take him off guard and make him listen. But…” He touched the split lip. “This happened.”

“…I’m sorry.” Optimus whispered, and he was. It was a tragic story, and had a ring like truth. It made so much sense. “What will you do now?”

“… I don’t know. I was going to… but now I guess I won’t.” Starscream muttered something under his breath that sounded like. “It wouldn’t be Megatron to pick me up.”

“You could… come with me. You don’t have to go back to him.”

“No. But I do have to go back to my faction. Yours… wouldn’t accept me.”

“I would.”

“And that is your downfall.” The Seeker stepped back and off the edge of the cliff, making Prime’s vents catch, but then the convoy heard his engines firing and a tricolor jet headed into the sky.

Optimus Prime stared after Starscream until his engines became a shooting star and he was gone. 

 

Starscream was quiet under Megatron’s servos. The warlord was in a good mood and his touch was gentle as well as rough. It… was actually quite nice. Far nicer than what someone like him deserved.

“You have him dangling at your digits. Like so many before.” He had crowed. “Good job, Starscream… Now we just need to maneuver you into his fold.”

And Starscream would go. He would go and he would infiltrate – learn their strengths and weaknesses. Hide himself in plain sight. Become one of them. Then, when the time was right, he would rise like a cobra and strike out their spark. He had done it before.

He would do it again.


	3. Ultra Magnus

Starscream was waiting for Optimus along one of his driving routes, EM field cast wide like a net to announce his presence. He was sitting on a fallen log, legs crossed and arms folded. When the convoy emerged through the trees, he sniffed. “You’re late.”

“I wasn’t aware we had an appointment.” Optimus’s optics twitched in amusement. “But I apologize for my tardiness all the same.”

“Hmph. Why do you wear that thing all the time?” Starscream questioned. “It’s most off-putting.”

“Habit, I suppose.” Optimus sat down beside the Seeker on the log. “Why do you wear so much cosmetic paint?”

“Image.” Starscream ran his lips together appealingly, spreading the black paint anew over them. “And dark colors under one’s optics reduce glare.”

“Yes, but lip color? And I can’t imagine glossy has a practical advantage.” Optimus observed. In a bold moment, he reached up and touched the side of Starscream’s faceplate, coming away with a touch of the dark, shining spray on the end of one digit. 

“Can you imagine what would happen if I came out with pink lippaint one day? I once defeated Ultra Magnus just by running out of black.” Starscream mischievously smiled. “I wear the lippaint to keep my lipplates from cracking and the glossy because it’s a sign of my station.”

“Magnus never did tell me how you managed to defeat him at Simanzi.” Optimus mused. “It was lippaint? Really?”

“You’d be amazed what changing a detail can do to someone so oriented as Ultra Magnus.” Starscream explained. “It was enough for me to get in a sucker-punch and put him on the ground.”

“And you left him alive.” There was a question implicit in the statement. 

“I did.” Starscream shrugged. “There were other things to do at the time.”

 

But that was not the reason. The real reason lay in the bounds of a time before the war, before Sentinel had laid dead in his concubine’s berth. 

“I see you.” Ultra Magnus had told a concubine who called himself Starsong. “I see you for who you are.”

“Do you indeed?” Starsong questioned, bored. To him, Ultra Magnus was one of many lovers he kept among the palace retinue.

“Yes. You’re rotten here.” Ultra Magnus had pushed a finger at his cockpit. “And not all the glossy in the world can ever disguise it.”

“Perhaps. What does it matter?”

“He’ll see someday, and then you’ll be back on the streets, where you belong. A former concubine is just a whore.”

And Starsong had smirked, a cold smirk, in acknowledgement of what was absolute truth. “You might be right.”

Soon after, Sentinel had laid dead in a berth he had made for himself, with a poisonous concubine he had created of his own lusts. He hadn’t been able to pierce Starscream’s veneer, but Ultra Magnus had.

Someone who could see truth in others was worth preserving.

 

At last, Starscream stood up. “It’s late. I should be going back to the Nemesis.”

“…Will you come back?”

“When I have a chance.” Starscream replied. “Perhaps it will be soon.”

“…I hope so.” Optimus admitted. “You’re pleasant to talk to, Starscream. You’re nothing like what you appear to be.”

“If one wishes to survive in the Decepticons, one must be an excellent actor.” Starscream explained, not looking back. That statement was a terrible irony.

“Have you ever wanted to leave?”

“I cannot run from myself.” The truth slipped out before he could stop it. And it was the truth. A truth he had come to realize through a long, painful struggle.

 

“Please…” Starscream begged, searching through a burning ruin. “Where are you?!”

Fire surrounded him – chemical flames that threatened to burn the paint from his plating. “Where are you…?” He searched blindly for the one person who had believed in him, had loved him, had seen him as a treasure… 

“Please!” He fell to his knees when a piece of debris fell on his shoulder, crushing the joint. Life wouldn’t be worth living without him.

 

“That’s a sad thought.” Optimus quietly considered and Starscream took off into the blue sky.

 

Starscream massaged oil deep into the crevices of Megatron’s armor. The warlord was aching and tired from a series of long days strung together without recharge in between. 

“Give me your status update and an alignment.” He had growled the moment he had seen Starscream after he had returned from his rendezvous with the Prime.

Starscream carefully manipulated the old mech’s plating. “You need to get this fixed, Megatron.” He sighed, running a servo over the slightly out-of-time spinal strut. “Alignments are only going to do so much.”

“My spinal strut is perfectly fine.” Megatron growled. “Besides, we don’t have a medic I would trust with the correction.”

“Surely Hook can handle a simple tune-up, my lord.”

“I’ll wait until Flatline is available again.”

“Very well, my lord.” Starscream sighed and continued his work.

Megatron whuffed. “You have few true talents, Starscream, but this is one of them.”

“I learned it by experience.” Starscream informed him softly. 

“Hmm. It’s more than just relaxing, if you know what I mean.” Megatron languidly rubbed his extended spike against the berth.

“I will be happy to take care of that when I’m done, my Lord.” Starscream, in a moment of boldness, kissed a spot beside Megatron’s audial as he squeezed the plating gently.

When their positions were reversed and it was Starscream on his front, aft in the air, he jerked and gasped with every one of the tank’s rough thrusts. Megatron was huge, almost too much for his tight, hot valve, even fully lubricated and stretched. He had thrust through him and was pounding him so hard into the berth Starscream was sure it was bouncing as much as he was.

“Tell me what you are.” Megatron growled, gripping him by the throat and forcing him up into a hard arch. 

“I’m a whore!” Starscream screeched. “I’m scum! I don’t deserve this, or you! Ah! Ah! Use me, Lord Megatron! Use me!” His optics whited out as Megatron gave a deep roar and overloaded into his clenching valve.


	4. Phase Two

Optimus was polishing Starscream’s wing. It was scratched deeply after a battle and he had convinced, persuaded, and coerced Starscream into letting him polish the scratches away. Compared to a great deal of other injuries, Starscream had got off easy. 

“…You’re far too nice to me, Optimus. Not that I don’t deserve pampering, but you seem to be forgetting that I’m the enemy.” Starscream reminded him.

“Not here. Here, we’re both just any other mechs, sitting together, and polishing.” Optimus patted his side gently. Starscream winced. Megatron had been… displeased the night before. Not with Starscream specifically, but any sort of frustration tended to find its way back to him.

“…I only wish it were true.” Starscream sighed. He also wished that Optimus was more of a challenge. He would be getting into the mech’s plating any day if their relationship kept developing. He wondered what Optimus had behind his panel. Sentinel had been… unimpressive.

Optimus had a way of touching him very gently, as if he was fragile. It was oddly nice. Far too nice for what someone like him deserved. He wondered how Optimus’s behavior would change if he ever realized exactly how disgusting Starscream was. That was, if Starscream gave him the chance to learn. Sentinel had died in his recharge, Starscream had smothered his vents. Somehow, he thought that when he had the chance, he would probably poison the Autobot’s energon supply so they all went relatively peacefully and without knowing their fate. It would be most efficient, but that sort of impersonal kill was unappealing. He liked it when his prey had a chance to fight back.

Starscream sighed and closed his optics, allowing himself to enjoy the lingering touches on his sensitive wing. “Optimus… have you ever… considered this going anywhere?”

“Not particularly. When I find you in pain, I want to help you. It’s my nature.” Optimus finished polishing out the last of the rock’s markings and set his servos on Starscream’s waist almost as if he was holding him in place. They were sitting on a log, well, Starscream was sitting on it and Optimus was straddling it behind him and to his right. Sun was shining down on them through the leaves above. “…Have you?”

“…Perhaps a little too much.” Starscream sighed, inching back a little further towards the convoy. 

“…We are on opposite sides.” Optimus sadly agreed, but his servos were creeping around the Seeker, looking to pull him close. “But I have always believed that we will win or lose on the strength of the relationships we build.”

Starscream was only playing a character when he socked him, standing. “Idiot. The Decepticons will grind you and yours into the dirt. The strength of your relationships means nothing.”

“…I think they mean a little more than nothing.” Optimus rubbed his facemask. “Or you’d be firing your null rays instead of using your fists.”

Starscream was silent as he stood a little bit away. “I can’t hate you, Optimus. No matter how much I want to. When I’m here, I actually feel like the traitor Megatron is calling me, but I still can’t hate you.”

Optimus stood up and gently put his servos on Starscream’s shoulders, rubbing the plating back into place. “You’re not a traitor.”

“What do you call this then?” Starscream questioned him. 

“You’re not giving me information or resources. In fact, I’m using mine on you. I don’t know what that is, but it’s not treachery.”

“…I suppose not. It doesn’t stop-“ He tapped his cockpit. “Here.”

“…If you don’t want to come back next time, I suppose you have the right to make that decision.”

Starscream sighed and leaned back against him. “I don’t think I could stay away. Not even if I wanted to.” He sighed, running his lipplates together. The lippaint he was wearing was red today.

“Then please, come back.” Optimus transformed his mask out of the way and pressed a lightning-quick kiss to the back of his helmet before slamming it back into place. “I would miss you.”

“…You’re a fool, Optimus Prime.” Starscream turned and pressed a kiss to his mask, leaving a bright, red mark. Then, he took to the air, flying away.

 

Optimus sat down on the log and enjoyed the feel of Starscream’s lippaint imprint on his mask for a long few moments. Then, he polished it off with the same cloth, a smear of blood. He wondered what the Seeker was returning to today and hoped it was to rest. The tremble in every one of the Seeker’s limbs told the Convoy he needed it. He hadn’t been sure how Starscream would react to him kissing his helm, but it seemed the Seeker did return at least some of his feelings. He had suspected as much when he saw that Starscream was wearing a fetching red lipcolor.

He drove towards home, wheels bouncing slightly as he schooled his expression back to normal. Ratchet would pick up on his good mood at once if he wasn’t careful, but it was hard to make himself take it down a notch. He had almost kissed Starscream. He was sure that if his facemask had been open, the Seeker would have kissed him, but he would also have been able to see his scar… And that was something for another time.

 

Starscream walked through the corridors of the Nemesis, quiet and withdrawn into himself. These visits with the Prime always made him think a little too hard. Most of it was the easy, worthwhile thoughts that accompanied a new target: How to take advantage of weakness, how to convince him that the next step in their relationship was a viable one. But then there were the thoughts that whispered to him how much better off he could be with Prime. The old, lingering threads of desire that drew him in, tried to make him think he could ever be more than what he was. It had been a hard lesson to learn and ages past had been equally hard teachers, that he was nothing but garbage, to be used and abused by the ones whose servos held him down.

He had learned it at the University. It had been engrained into him along with the seeds of knowledge. He should have been able to do great things. If he had been anyone else, he would have been, but no… He was Starscream, the undertrod, the dirt beneath their pedes was still higher than he was. A traitor for no other reason than his lord ordered. He had no desire except to live another day – base creature that he was, he couldn’t even end his own existence – hell that it was. 

It was with these thoughts that he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a box containing a full vial of potent, blue poison. Megatron had given it to him at the beginning of the war. He had made it clear that Starscream wasn’t to touch it until the order was given. Until he had lost all value, all use to his master. And Starscream wouldn’t touch it. Wouldn’t even think of it. Until the time came. But he did like to look at it, to see the blue liquid bubbling slightly and to know what it would do to him. It was an acid compound that would activate on contact with live energon, would eat him away from the inside out. With that thought, he slipped the vial back into its box and the box into his drawer. A sure and quick, if agonizing death. The thought had its appeal.

Megatron stepped into his quarters. “Well? Make your report.”

“It’s going well, Lord Megatron. We’re almost ready for phase three.” Starscream told him dully, staring into the mirror. 

“…You’ve been looking at your vial again, haven’t you? I wish you wouldn’t. It’s most disconcerting.” Megatron reached out and took hold of him, pulling him away from the desk. “It’s not time yet. I still have use for you.”

“Of course, my lord. I wouldn’t dream of taking it before you say.” Starscream wearily leaned against him. “…It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t let myself get in the way of our objective.”

“No, you certainly should not.” Megatron firmly stated. “But you’re clearly exhausted. You haven’t been recharging properly. Again.”

“…My apologies, Master. I’ve been working on your newest weapon.” Starscream reminded him. “I just wanted it to be perfect.”

“Of course, and you’ve done an excellent job. I think that deserves a reward. Come on. I’m going to do some paperwork in my quarters. You can sleep on my lap while I’m doing it.” Megatron dragged the Seeker through the secret passage between their quarters.

Starscream was mystified by why Megatron would want him to sleep on his lap, but didn’t complain. The much-larger mech’s workings made for a soothing hum as he splayed against his chest.

 

Optimus couldn’t help but think of Starscream and the kiss he had given him. The Seeker had admitted that he felt treacherous in seeing him. Was it because he was falling in love? If Optimus was correct, he might be one of the few mechs to show the Seeker affection recently and that could be a powerful force to draw two mechs together. He knew the Seeker had an absolutely hideous personality, but no one deserved to go so long without someone to help them. Perhaps this would be the turning point for Starscream. Perhaps he would learn to recognize what was right. 

…But even then, he would always be Starscream. He would always be an over-ambitious mess of a mech who wanted more than he could have and was always undermining authority. He would still be sassy and sarcastic, still be himself. And for all of that, Optimus loved him. He couldn’t imagine going without Starscream’s snapped greetings “You’re late!” “I was considering leaving…” “Finally!” Because in his processor, he translated them with ease. “I was worried.” “I would have waited longer.” And “I thought you might not be coming…” The Seeker spoke in code, perhaps even to himself, and Optimus was so privileged to have been with him, seen him, enough to know what he meant when he was saying something else. 

He treasured that. Hoped it meant what he thought it did. Prayed that it might bring Starscream to his side.

 

Starscream woke up lying on Megatron’s desk with the warlord thrusting into his valve. Oh, that was why. Megatron did like to frag him in recharge. The Seeker generally didn’t argue. It was a way to wake up that didn’t involve pain or even annoyance. Instead, it was tingly and charge that had gathered beneath his plating awoke all at once across his processor. It made for a haze across his vision.

A haze that was augmented when Megatron put the heel of his servo on his neck and pressed down, closing off his oral vent, making him gasp and his head swim.


	5. A SHAMELESS PLUG FOR ANOTHER PROJECT!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not to do with Scutwork's plot at all. If you're inclined that way, just skip it. But... Everyone who likes/follows my blog is getting me a step closer to writing full time... and then I could also fanfic more often...
> 
> https://camilladraymarch.wordpress.com

The shadows were less sinister on their walk back. They made a brief stop outside of Carmel’s bedroom to leave her gown and the jewel case. Then, Carmel handed Ceol the lamp and shooed him away. “Go back to bed, Ceol. It’s three hours until Nibiru.”

“Yes, Mother.” Ceol turned away and began the trek out of the women’s wing and back to his own bed.

It wasn’t long before he heard the soft click of heels on stone, his own footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. Looking up, he directed the lamp at the decorative ledge that ran around the roof. “Aunt Carnelian?”

There was silence for a long moment as the shadows cast by delicate statuary refused to coalesce. Then, Carnelian stepped out from behind a cherub. “I hate it when you call me Aunt.”

“You’ve said, but I’m at a loss for what to call you otherwise.” Ceol replied. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“I could ask the same.” Carnelian dropped to the carpet.

“Mother took me to her vault to get clothes for the Waverly party.”

“Indeed. I’ve been looking forwards to it myself.” Carnelian folded her arms over her long coat, the leather bodysuit beneath shone in the lantern light.

“I thought you were the one who warned them to stay out of the public eye for a while?” Ceol questioned. “Aren’t you upset that they didn’t listen?”

“I didn’t expect Lady Aoko to listen for long. Beside that, I must admit: I miss the Waverly parties. They were scandalous. It was fun.” She smiled, her green eyes lighting up with mischief.

“You would think scandal is fun.” Ceol couldn’t help smiling back. Carnelian’s moods, good or bad, were infectious.

“Don’t you?” Carnelian spread her hands in a questioning gesture.

Ceol sighed, smirking. “To a point.”

Finally, his Aunt looked over at a clock nearby. “It’s half past the third hour, Ceol. You should get some more rest before Nibiru.”

“What about you, Aunt Carnelian?” Ceol began walking down the halls again.

“Oh, you know me. Have to do enforcer things.” Carnelian smirked. She didn’t look it, but she took her job as her sister’s deadly hand very seriously.

“Good night, Aunt Carnelian.”

“Good night, Ceol. Don’t let the bedbugs bite!”

Ceol suspected that more than ninety percent of Carnelian’s displayed personality was a carefully maintained act. No one could be that systematically bizarre and yet maintain and nurture a web of spies, remove powerful enemies of the crown, and keep a thumb on the political pulsepoint of Beikirk. On the other hand, his grandfather had declared her unfit to rule and favored Kommissar over her. He assumed there was a reason.

And his Mother and Kommissar often spoke of Carnelian being “better” or “worse” as if she had a disease…

Ceol put it from his mind. Carnelian was Carnelian and there was nothing more to say.

 

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	6. Insertion

Starscream was in recharge when Optimus came to their usual meeting place. The Seeker seemed to have passed out against the trunk of a tree. Of course, he wasn’t entirely out of it. His wings lifted when Optimus entered. He still had some suspicion left, even in recharge, but he seemed to accept that Optimus was not a danger, because he didn’t boot up from recharge and simply remained resting against the tree on the soft, grassy floor.

Optimus sat down beside him and gently put an arm around the Seeker. After a few moments, Starscream slowly leaned like a willow into him and Optimus set the other arm around his waist. As a result, Starscream woke feeling warm and cuddly and safe for once.

“…Optimus?” He questioned, leaning against the Convoy’s shoulder. “Is this a dream?”

“If it is, do you want to wake up?” The convoy teased him.

“…No.” Starscream laid back into his shoulder and closed his optics again. “But I might want a certain ground-pounding clod to do something more with his servos.”

“…And if the ground-pounding clod was amenable, what would you want?”

“Oh, I don’t know… Some attention for my wings might be nice.”

Optimus began running the edge between two of his fingers, up and down. “Like that?”

Starscream wiggled slightly, purring. “Yeah, exactly… And maybe the other hand should be on my cockpit.”

“Like this?” Optimus ran his servo over the smooth glass surface.

The Seeker’s vents began purring. “…If he’s feeling really daring, said ground-pounder could eventually play with my vent fans.” His optics were still sealed shut.

Optimus looked at the two vent fans. They were spinning slightly as they pumped air through Starscream’s systems. With the hand that had been stroking Starscream’s wing, Optimus dipped in and touched the central nub, pressing against it slightly.

Starscream moaned and arched and arousal shot through Optimus. Taking initiative, he nuzzled Starscream’s neck and began sending charge through his facemask, resulting in shocking electric kisses.

Starscream began to pant slightly as his vents started stuttering and Optimus sent his off hand downstairs to rub at the Seeker’s panel. It opened surprisingly quickly and his digits sank into a wet, pliant valve.

“…If this is a dream, I can only imagine I look very stupid.” Starscream began pushing himself down onto the digits.

“No. If any ground-pounding clod were lucky enough to see this, he would think you look very beautiful indeed.” Optimus assured him, amused.

Starscream’s optics opened and he looked up into Optimus’s faceplates. “You really are a fool, Optimus Prime.”

“I’ve always been a fool in love.” He countered calmly, bending down and nestling their helms together. “And I’ve always liked Seekers.”

“And of all of them, you choose me to put the moves on.” Starscream sighed and laced his digits behind Optimus’s helm. “You’re a fool.”

“If you’re not careful, I’m going to start translating that to ‘I love you.’” Optimus warned him, resting their forehelms together.

“Perhaps that’s what I mean.” Starscream snarked back, kissing his facemask. “Now let’s finish this before you put me out of the mood.”

Optimus pulled him into his lap. “Your wish is my command.”

“Oh, don’t put that kind of power in my hands, I don’t know if I could handle that.” Starscream spread his legs easily and wrapped them around the convoy.

“I think you could.” Optimus was still running his servos over Starscream, sometimes tracing just the tips of his digits over his plating, other times sweeping the full span of his palm down his sides. It was… very, very different from what he was used to. Megatron always seemed to be in a hurry for the main event, but Optimus was clearly trying to wind Starscream up before they moved on. It left his circuits aching strangely.

Starscream moaned and leaned against Optimus, his spinal strut seeming to soften as he bowed like a willow into the Prime and Optimus rose up against him, pulling him up like putty only to sink him back down onto the thick, but not too thick, spike.

Starscream’s pleasure flowed upwards quickly and he moaned aloud, tossing his helm back to cry out. “Optimus! What- What are you doing?”

“Making love to you.” Optimus answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It seems it’s been a long time.”

Starscream couldn’t remember a time he had felt this good during interface, so that was as true as anything. “Uh…Uh!” He groaned into Optimus’s audial as he sank down the Prime’s spike and overloaded suddenly.

Optimus held him secure as both road it out. Starscream, for his part, was knocked offline by the knife edge that shot through him and woke in the Prime’s arms, spent and boneless. “…Amazing…” He whispered and Optimus nuzzled his audial. 

 

Starscream still had the evidence of his and Optimus’s coupling locked behind his panel when he stepped onto the Nemesis. He didn’t know why he had closed up this way, perhaps because he just liked the feeling of having been freshly fragged or that he was subconsciously still reeling from the way Optimus had touched him.

That slippery, sneaking voice whispered into his audial. “…He doesn’t know the real you. You think if he knew what you are, what you planned, he would touch you that way? Pfft.”

Starscream tried to ignore it, but he knew in his spark it was true. He would have enjoyed keeping the marks of Optimus’s ministrations for a bit longer as his plating continued to tingle, but he stepped into the shower. Unworthy. He was Unworthy.

When he had made his veneer impenetrable again, he commed Megatron. Megatron, who saw him for what he was, and acted accordingly. “Lord Megatron.”

“Starscream, report.” 

Starscream spoke softly. “We are ready for the next phase, Lord Megatron.”

“Excellent. Then you will have to enforce comm silence until your mission is complete from now on.”

“Affirmative, Lord Megatron.”

“Come to my quarters and we will prepare for the next phase.”

“Of course, Lord Megatron.” Starscream closed the comm and looked at himself in the mirror. He saw exactly what he was.

 

Optimus – trusting fool – was waiting for him at their meeting place. Starscream almost didn’t land. Almost flew away from him. Almost saved him.

But he was no hero. 

He landed and smiled, when he saw Optimus. When the convoy rushed to him and pressed him close, he whispered a joke. “Is that a blaster in your subspace or are you just happy to see me?”

“Can it be both?” Optimus responded, joking right back as he pressed those electric kisses to his neck and faceplates. “I am- forgive me, but… I need you right now.”

“So eager!” Starscream fluttered his wings, flirting them in Optimus’s servos as he stroked their surfaces. “But I suppose I can oblige.” 

Optimus settled him against a tree this time as he worshipped the Seeker with his servos and optics. Both left burning trails over Starscream and he signaled Megatron before he would be incapable of thinking of it.

Starscream was gasping through his second overload and Optimus was slowly sinking his spike into Starscream’s valve when the Seeker looked up and gave a gasp of not-quite-faux terror. Megatron was rampaging toward them. “Optimus-!”

The Prime turned just in time to catch Megatron’s fist right in his audials. He was knocked offline and the warlord grabbed Starscream, digging his fists into his vent fans. They scrabbled – Starscream hissing and in pain as Megatron systematically began to destroy him and ripped open his codpiece to plunder his valve – but stopped when both realized that the Prime’s anticipated interference was not coming.

“Lord Megatron… You weren’t supposed to knock him offline.” Starscream sighed. 

“…Sorry. I just – I was so angry when I saw him…”

“Understandable, but take it down a notch until he wakes up.” Starscream instructed, opening his legs and allowing the Decepticon leader to take his rightful place. Both kept their EM fields trained on the Prime as Megatron ripped into Starscream through his intimate places. When his field began to flicker, Starscream whispered. “Let’s make this look good.” and unsheathed his claws to leave five score marks across his leader’s faceplates.

Megatron growled and began battering him against the ground again, twisting one of his wings nearly in two. Starscream’s shrieks shook the forest. Megatron thrust him into a tree and turned to Prime as the Convoy began to online slowly.

Starscream, knowing the steps to this dance as well as any Seeker ballet, threw his aching and damaged frame onto Megatron’s back and clawed away. As a result, the first thing Optimus saw was Starscream saving him from the marauding war lord… and paying dearly for the insolence in the next moment as Megatron reached around and gripped Starscream’s neck – crushing his vox box and impacting several major fuel lines and his spinal strut as he squeezed, lining up his fusion cannon with Starscream’s helm as the Seeker’s frame went limp in his grip.

Optimus threw himself bodily into Megatron and knocked Starscream away from him, pummeling the war lord with all the rage a lover could muster when his other half was being assaulted. Megatron was forced to retreat from Optimus’s assault, which allowed the Convoy to turn to Starscream and gasp in horror at how still, how damaged the Seeker’s frame was. “No… Starscream! Stay with me!” He gathered the Seeker to his windshield and turned towards the Ark. No time to consider the consequences. No time to think of what his Autobots would say or do. No time to think of how Starscream would feel when he woke. He could only throw himself into a dead on sprint, optics seeming to fog over as he ran on instinct alone.

Ratchet was Starscream’s only hope.


	7. Ratchet's Prognosis

The first mech Optimus passed was Ironhide. The veteran was about to call a greeting, but Optimus didn’t so much as look at him. Bumblebee was forced to leap out of the way when he charged through with Starscream in his arms. Ratchet gave a shout when he barged in, knocking over a tray of medical tools, and laid Starscream on the nearest surgical berth. “Ratchet, Starscream requires immediate aid.”

Ratchet’s faceplates became grim as he surveyed the offline Decepticon. “Optimus, what is Starscream doing in this state?” He was moving, pulling equipment over, grabbing a surgery kit, but he was asking questions. Same old Ratchet.

“He- He- Ratchet, he was trying to save me.” Optimus shook his helm. “I know it sounds crazy…”

“It does sound pretty fragged.” Ratchet agreed, beginning to patch major fuel lines first while the diagnostics went to work on the rest of him. “And why on earth would Starscream want to try and save you? In what situation would that even be necessary?”

“I… We’ve been seeing each other.” Optimus muttered, keeping his optics down. “But we haven’t talked about the war, or our factions. We just… Like being together. It’s hard to explain. It started whenever I would run across Starscream after one of Megatron’s punishments and then we just started meeting to just talk. Nothing that could be used against us, you understand…” He babbled on, explaining everything as Ratchet continued to piece Starscream back together, occasionally cursing as he found a new facet of damage. Eventually, he and Optimus turned Starscream over with care so he could work on the Seeker’s wings and spinal strut from behind. Gently, the medic manipulated Starscream’s arms and helm so that he was lying as straight and flat as possible, with his helm turned towards Optimus.

Finally, the medic looked up. “Well, I don’t need to tell you that it’s bad for him. It looks like Megatron completely destroyed his vox box and his spinal strut has been impacted. His valve is torn, and it appears he’s missing his spike, but that isn’t a new injury. Rather, it looks like it was done a long, long time ago.” Ratchet sighed, manually closing Starscream’s valve cover after he had cleaned and patched it.

“Will he recover…?” Optimus questioned, fretting over his raped and tormented lover.

“I don’t know. It’s highly likely that he’ll make a full recovery, but it might take time. There’s only so much I can do for him. Some of it he has to do on his own.”

“How can I help him?”

“Are you determined to keep him here?”

“It would be a death sentence to send him back to the Nemesis.” Optimus looked down at Starscream and gently cupped his helm. Ratchet had manipulated the braces and restraints to hold the damaged Seeker in place and his spine was stiff and held straight.

“Then you’ll have to tell Prowl and the other officers.” Ratchet sighed, closing the last of the plates over Starscream’s neck and locking them into place. “For now, Starscream needs to rest. You go talk to them.”

“All right. I’ll be back.” Optimus aimed the second statement at Starscream and gently patted his helm as he headed out into the Ark to face his second and the other Autobots who would doubtless demand immediate explanations from him.

 

“..Downright irresponsible! Ignoring the fact that it’s the Decepticon Second you’ve been going to see the consequences of being alone outside the Ark and in a meeting with any mech could be dire! What if Megatron had come along before this? Does anyone read dialogue like this all the way through? I mean, I know I do, but I’ve been told that I am a patently weird person on more than one occasion. If no one does, don’t comment at all about this blurb of text right in the middle here. What if you had been knocked offline and couldn’t resist him? It’s all well and good that someone else was there, but clearly they weren’t as much help as you think because I can see your dents from here and it’s amazing that Ratchet didn’t insist you stay in medbay while he repaired you…” Prowl had clearly been triggered by the circumstance and was going on and on in the background while the other officers each had their own separate reactions.

“You slept with Starscream?!” Ironhide had read between the lines of Optimus’s speech explaining why and how Starscream had come to be bloody and broken and inside their base and was broken by the fact that he and Starscream had interfaced together. “How were you not deafened? Is he just not loud during interface? How is that possible? It’s Starscream we’re talking about and it’s absolutely breaking my processor that you would interface with him at all. He’s an enemy for bloody Pit and he’s possibly the worst of them because he’s always backstabbing Megatron! Or does that make him the best of them and Megatron is just a complete jerk…”

Jazz had just kicked back in his chair and had a good laugh as everyone inquired of Prime’s sex life with the hottest Seeker in the Decepticons and Red Alert was under the table – Completely glitched out. Wheeljack, on the other hand, was taking this entirely calmly. Either that or he was just in complete shock.

Optimus was blushing profusely beneath his mask and cupping his helm in his servos. The meeting had devolved into chaos, but what more could he expect. At least the twins weren’t there, then it would be true pandemonium.

“Enough!” He finally raised his voice when it was quite clear his officers weren’t going to quiet down on their own. “Everyone settle down! I need quiet!”

When the dust settled, he ex-vented. “For obvious reasons, I ask that you not openly speak of my relationship with Starscream with the men, but I am not ashamed of it. If anyone asks, send them to me and let me tell them.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nasal vent. 

“But Prime, can we trust Starscream?” Ironhide brought up the billion credit question.

“…He put himself between me and Megatron, Ironhide, when I couldn’t save myself. I think that’s worth some trust.” Optimus quietly reminded his weapons specialist.

The officers exchanged glances and there was quite a bit of nodding and mutters of agreement. Jazz summed it up. “Reckon that deserves some benefit of the doubt in my book. Wonder if ‘Screamer likes music.”

“He does.” Optimus smiled behind his mask. “But ask Ratchet before you decide to pester him with anything.”

“Ask Ratchet about what?” Ratchet stepped in with a datapad in hand. “Sorry I’m late, I compiled a list of ‘Screamer’s injuries and my analysis.”

“Thank you, Ratchet.” Optimus took the datapad and scanned through it.

“’Screamer’s in a mess and no doubts about it.” Ratchet folded his arms. “I’m not sure when he’s going to wake up.”

“Thank you, Ratchet.” Optimus heavily told him, the list of Starscream’s suffering seemed to go on forever.

“He’ll be fine.” Prowl spoke suddenly, his tone wryly amused and encouraging. “If we know one thing about Starscream, he’s notoriously hard to kill. Megatron hasn’t managed it in millions of years. Why should he start now?”

There was a burst of laughter and agreement from the other officers and Optimus smiled slightly. “Thank you.”

“Go on. Take some datapads and sit with him.” Ratchet pushed Optimus out of the room. “We all know you want to.”

Optimus found himself in a better mood than he had been since opening his optics to see Starscream flinging himself onto Megatron’s back as he walked down the corridors, pulling his latest mound of paperwork out of his subspace. For once, he was grateful for the mundane work that let him sit next to Starscream and listen to his vents and the machines that beeped comfortingly and told him the Seeker was alive.

 

Ratchet closed the door behind their leader and the atmosphere immediately became so thick and tense that it could snap. “…Someone say it.” He ordered the officers.

“Optimus has gone out of his fragging processor.” Ironhide dourly put it forth.

“Starscream is in the base.” Jazz was sitting upright and tense. “STARSCREAM – The Seeker responsible for the fall of Iacon, is in the base!”

“Do you think this is another ploy?” Prowl considered. “He went to Sentinel in a similar fashion and Sentinel ended up dead.”

“But why would he protect Optimus then? It doesn’t make sense!”

Red Alert, who had recovered slightly, sat up – heard the phrase ‘Starscream is in the base’ and went offline again.

“Did he protect Optimus? Ratchet, what are those injuries like?” Ironhide rounded on the medic.

“…Much as I can’t seem to understand it,” Ratchet admitted. “Starscream has been worked over and his injuries are consistent with what Megatron gladly does to anyone who crosses him.” He folded his arms. “His spinal strut has been pinched off at the nape and the back of his neck was crushed.” He admitted to them. “Which makes sense with what Optimus told me about the fight. According to him, Megatron was going to finish Starscream off with his fusion cannon, but he recovered from the warlord’s blow and intervened.”

“So… Do we really believe it?” Jazz questioned. “It… it doesn’t make sense. Why would Megatron focus on Starscream instead of Optimus?”

“Optimus was knocked offline, Jazz. It’s quite possible that Megatron thought he could deal with his treacherous Seeker and then Prime.”

“Kind of makes sense. I mean, Megatron’s always kicking Screamer around. He seems to like it more than kicking around actual Autobots.” Jazz pointed out. “Whenever he retreats, the first thing he does after sounding the retreat is knock Screamer’s block.”

“…I guess we really do have to give Starscream the benefit of the doubt.” Prowl concluded. “Difficult as that’s going to be.”

“Agreed.” The other officers nodded and stood up. There was a Decepticon among the Autobots – no one was happy, but they would accept it for Prime’s sake.


	8. Innocence

Megatron stomped back into the Nemesis. “Soundwave to me. I have an announcement.” He growled into his comm. “Gather my officers into the meeting room.” Inside, he was snickering like a fiend. There was really nothing quite like unleashing Starscream on unsuspecting Don Juans and letting them fall like the monuments to uselessness they were.

His officers gathered in the meeting room, all of them as vicious as he was, but none quite like the secret weapon he had sent among the Autobots. Starscream would be their downfall, as Megatron always knew he would be, and then he would inter the only one who could stand against him. Everything was going according to plan.

“Lord Megatron, what happened?” Hook questioned, taking in his injuries with a glance. “You’re wounded.”

“I have discovered a disturbing fact.” Megatron sat down, prompting the others to find seats. “Starscream – the treasonous wretch – has been consorting with the Autobots.”

“WHAT?!” Skywarp bellowed. The clueless teleporter stood up so suddenly his chair fell over. “Say it’s not so!”

“It is so. I saw it with my own optics. He’s been… Consorting, with Optimus Prime behind all of our backs.” Megatron growled.

Thundercracker’s wings stiffened. “Starscream is… difficult and standoffish, my Lord, but treason against the Decepticons seems beyond him.”

“Do you doubt my word, Thundercracker?” Megatron questioned in a silky voice.

“…Of course not, My Lord. I suppose I don’t know my trineleader as well as I thought.”

Megatron gave him a hard glare for a few moments longer and then waved Thundercracker’s indiscretion off. “Some shock is warranted in any case. You are all to give the news to your subordinates: Starscream is persona non grata. Assuming he’s still alive, he is to be treated like an enemy. If possible, I want him taken alive. I wish to oversee his punishment personally.” There was an edge to that statement that made all of his officers shudder and Onslaught’s optics flash with an unholy eagerness. 

 

Optimus gently stroked one of Starscream’s servos as he read through a datapad. The Seeker was still lying on his front in the contorted position that held his spinal strut straight – still unconscious. The fact that he was alive at all was a miracle, but his spark reading pulsed strong and clear. There was minimal processor activity, but that was typical of mechs in a deep stasis as Starscream was. 

Bumblebee stepped in. “…There were rumors, bossbot.” He told Optimus, creeping up to his chair. “Is it true? Starscream’s here?”

“He’s in bad shape, Bumblebee, but yes. He’s here.” Optimus gestured gently to the supine Seeker. 

“…What happened to him?”

“He defied Megatron. And paid the price.” Optimus sighed. 

“But he does that all the time and Megatron’s never tried to kill him before.”

“This time was different, young one. He wasn’t trying to overthrow Megatron this time. He was… meeting me.”

Bumblebee looked up at Optimus with innocent blue optics. “Was he going to turn traitor?”

“…Not in so many words, young one. He and I have been seeing each other for a while now, just to talk.” Optimus explained. 

“Does that make you a traitor? Prowl says we shouldn’t talk to Decepticons.”

“You shouldn’t tell Decepticons our numbers or what we’re going to do, Bumblebee, because most Decepticons will use that to hurt us, but if you come across an injured Decepticon, it isn’t wrong to help him.”

“Oh. So you helped Starscream?”

“Megatron hurt him often.” Optimus nodded. “And when he did, I would find him and help him get back to the Nemesis. We became friends then… more. Megatron found out about us and tried to kill us both, but Starscream stopped him from killing me, and I drove him off.” He gave Bumblebee a soft glance. “Do you understand?”

“’Course, Prime. I’m not a sparkling.” Bumblebee looked up at Starscream. “Is he going to be all right?”

“Of course. In time.”

 

Megatron chuckled softly to himself. Soundwave was smoothing oil into the seams of his plating. With Starscream labeled a traitor and shareware, Soundwave had finally taken the place he believed he deserved – as his secret “consort.”

Soundwave made a soft, questioning noise.

“None of your concern.” Megatron assured him. “I just thought of something funny.” He rolled over. “Starscream out of my plating at last. I wonder if he survived. I think I broke his neck. It doesn’t matter either way. If he lives he’s dead anyway.”

Soundwave’s visor flashed in agreement. 

“You know, Soundwave, it’s nice to have loyal mechs like you about. You’d do just about anything for me, wouldn’t you?” He caressed his cheek and felt the mech shiver.

This was power.


	9. Nothing to Hide, Nothing to Fear

Word got around the Ark slowly, but it did get around. Optimus was just glad that they were left in relative peace and he didn’t have to defend Starscream’s offline frame from a rampaging Ironhide or the Twins. Their visitors were mostly mechs like Bumblebee, curious, but non-threatening. Starscream’s condition was pitiful at best, grave at worst. His spinal strut’s impact was pinching several important neural lines that controlled stimulus and movement. He would require therapy before he was back to the graceful, elegant Air Commander everyone expected. 

Optimus was never far from him, except when duty called. He attended battles, fought with a kind of fire he’d never had before. Or rather, the fire that had always been there flared up whenever he thought of a supine Seeker, lying on his front because his back would damage him. He couldn’t even touch the Seeker’s back for fear of doing damage. He contented himself with stroking his helm as he slept.

Starscream woke slowly. Blinking open his optics, the first thing he saw was Optimus’s helm. The Prime had fallen asleep with his arms pillowed on the berth and his helm laying on them, surrounded by datapads. Starscream smiled softly and reached out, putting a servo on the sleeping Prime’s helm. He couldn’t move much thanks to the restraining equipment, but if he was awake… it meant he was out of the woods.

Optimus stirred at his touch and Starscream wasn’t ready to go back to lying to him. He shuttered his optics again and pretended to be asleep. The Prime lifted his helm and seemed confused when Starscream’s servo slid off of it. With a muttered affection, he cupped the servo in his own and laid back down, stroking the sky blue plating with care.

Hours of affection and tension later, Starscream spoke. “Have you been back to your quarters once in the time that I’ve been here?” His voice sounded soft and feeble.

Optimus sighed and sat up, stroking his cheekplate. “…Yes. I had datapads there that I needed to get.”

“You should recharge in a berth at your age, mud-pounder.” Starscream began to wiggle and stretch. “…What happened?”

“Megatron tried to kill you.” Optimus explained. “Try not to move too much. I’ll get Ratchet, your spinal strut is still healing, but maybe we can turn you over.”

“I’m all right. I just need some wiggle room.” The Seeker sighed and settled.

Optimus came back with the grumpy medic. “…So, you’re awake.” Ratchet looked up at the readouts. “And your spinal strut is stable. We should be able to go to a brace in the morning, but for now let’s just…” He began loosening up the stabilizer. 

“…Thank you.” Starscream hauled out his manners for this one. 

“Whatever.” Ratchet huffed. “Just so you know, Optimus, this is insanity.”

“Old friend, it’s done.” Optimus settled a servo on Starscream’s shoulder. “Starscream, are you ready to turn over?”

“Ready.” Starscream waited, bracing himself as the last of the struts and locks came off. 

Optimus gently took his shoulders and Ratchet took his hips and they turned him over.

“Try to stay as still as possible.” Ratchet gruffly replied. “In the morning, I’ll haul out a brace and we’ll see if we can’t get you back on your pedes.”

“Thank you, Ratchet.” Starscream settled back.

Ratchet stomped out without saying a word.

“…I take it he doesn’t like me being here?” Starscream wryly smiled.

“…When I brought you here, there were a lot of questions. And the answers have made people question things. It’s been contained because you’ve been out of the way for the most part and… it’s hard to be angry or afraid of someone sedated and braced up in medbay.”

“But now that I’m going to be walking around, it’s different.”

“…I’ll keep you safe, Starscream.” Optimus promised, taking his servo and squeezing. “Do you remember what happened when… Megatron attacked?”

Of course he did. He remembered perfectly. “…I don’t know. I’m sure I made a fool of myself in some way.”

“You were amazing.” Optimus reached up and gently cupped his faceplates. “And don’t try to tell me otherwise, because I was there.”

Starscream smiled softly. “You’re a fool, Optimus Prime.”

“I love you too.”

 

“This isn’t good, Ratchet.” Prowl paced. “I thought you were keeping him sedated.”

“I was. His frame tossed it off like it was nothing. My strongest stuff too.” Ratchet hissed slightly. “I suppose it was too much to hope we could keep him in a coma until Optimus comes to his senses.”

“How is Optimus?” Jazz questioned.

“Overjoyed. I’ve never seen a mech so in love.” Ratchet folded his arms. “If only it wasn’t Starscream he was in love with.”

“Any indication that we could drive a wedge in?”

“We’ll have to be extremely careful. Starscream may be screechy and seem like a moron, but he’s anything but.” Jazz tapped the intelligence file. “We’re dealing with a mech who has infuriated Megatron – who constantly defies him – and yet the slag-lord refuses to kill him. Either he can’t or… everything we know about their relationship is built on faulty data.”

“Is Starscream killable?”

“He’s a mech. He can be killed.” Ratchet replied. “With that said, he’s highly resilient and he did throw off some of my best painkillers eventually, so it’s not going to be easy to drug or poison him. Not that I am recommending any such thing.”

“Noted.” Prowl nodded. “And, for the record, that’s not what we’re suggesting either. But this isn’t right. Something about this is wrong, and we all know it.”

“What if it isn’t?” Jazz questioned. “Just throwing this out there. What if Optimus and Starscream are in love? We’ve always known there’s friction between Stars and Megs, that he was trying to get rid of him every other week, so why not?”

“We can’t assume that. We’ll watch him, carefully.” Prowl nodded. “And if he is trustworthy, we’ll know.”

“And, of course, not a word to Prime.” Jazz shook his helm. “That doesn’t seem like a good idea, Prowl. That kind of secret – if Optimus figures it out – could drive a wedge between us all.”

“It’s not a decision I’m making lightly. Optimus is compromised in this situation by his feelings for Starscream. He can’t be trusted to keep a clear processor.”

“But shouldn’t he at least be told? It’s a logical fear, Prowl. Optimus will understand your concern.”

“…All right. At our next opportunity, I’ll speak to him and explain that I believe Starscream’s activities should be monitored. If Starscream is sincere, he shouldn’t object.”

“Agreed.” Ratchet nodded. “And for as long as he’s in my medbay, I will keep an optic on him.”


	10. The Pearl Coat

Starscream’s recovery felt slow and difficult. Optimus counseled himself to patience at every creeping mile marker.

“…You fuss like an old Carrier.” Starscream told him as he lifted the Seeker from the bench he was lying on – where they had unlocked the braces that kept him upright and walking - and into his arms, spending several moments settling him just right to keep all pressure off of his neck and spinal strut.

“You like being fussed over.” Optimus retorted, stepping over to the soaking tub of boiling hot oil and gently lowering the slender Seeker in. 

The Seeker didn’t bother to hide his pleased purrs and the slight, pleasured flick of his wings as he sank into the rich oil. “Well… I suppose I can’t deny it if it’s true.”

Optimus chuckled and picked up a massaging sponge. With care, he began running it over Starscream’s unsubmerged plating, covering his sensitive armor with the rich, nutritious oil.

“I can feel my nanites soaking this up.” Starscream hummed, leaning his helm back as Optimus squeezed out the sponge over it. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Optimus supported the languid helm and lifted it to gently brush the sponge over the back of the Seeker’s neck. “It’s been a long enough time for you.”

“By all means, spoil me. I’m not complaining.” Starscream flared his plating out to let the oil in beneath his plating. “There is one thing that could make this better…”

“Name it.” Optimus wiped the sponge around his audials with care, not allowing the oil to get into them.

“Why don’t you get in with me?” Starscream purred.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” Optimus felt twinges of longing up and down his plating. “We’re supposed to be careful with your neck…”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t be careful?” Starscream pouted. 

“I would be as much as I could, but… Ah…”

Starscream smirked. “Why Optimus Prime, are you saying that I make you lose that lauded control?”

Optimus heated. “Of course, you little minx.” He gently pushed a wave of oil over Starscream’s faceplates and rubbed it in with his digits.

“I have faith in you, my Prime. Come on. Indulge me.” The Seeker encouraged. “If you don’t, then when I get out of this tub, with my armor polished and shining and the scratches buffed away, I might be ashamed to be seen with you.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Optimus bent and kissed Starscream’s lipplates – makeup gone, they were as beautiful as ever – bowing to his lover’s teasing. 

It took some doing, lifting, slipping, and pulling, but Optimus arranged Starscream against his windshield, neck and helm resting on the place between the two plates of glass. Admittedly, the Prime had to admit that the Seeker was right, this was much better. He could reach every part of Starscream and massage every plate.

That was, until his servo slipped against Starscream’s hip and the Seeker twitched, suppressing a giggle.

Optimus felt a delighted grin cross his faceplates. “Oh, my… Are you ticklish, Starscream?”

“N-no!” Starscream denied it, even as Optimus began teasing his digits over those hips again, drumming them against his plating and wiggling them down into the seams. “Stop it!”

“Why? You’re not ticklish.” Optimus dropped his helm to the side of Starscream’s and kissed it.

“You’re a terrible, horrible – oh!” Optimus’s digits finally found a sensitive spot and the Seeker broke, giggling helplessly as the Convoy mercilessly tickled his sides and the small of his back. “Stop!”

“Oh, but you’re not ticklish! You said so!” Optimus teased, finding that the longer he tickled the Seeker the more sensitive spots he found.

“Evil, evil – Hahahaha!” It was so nice to hear him laughing with such abandon as Optimus wrapped one of his arms around him to keep him from struggling too much and disturbing his neck strut, while the other one groped and fluttered against a sensitive thigh. “Stop it!”

“But why?” Optimus stilled for a moment, waited for Starscream to calm slightly, then flicked his digits against a sensitive spot and set the Seeker off again.

“I’m ticklish! I’m ticklish!” Starscream admitted at the top of his voice, breaking off into a shrill at the end. Panting and gasping, he rolled his optics up at Optimus. “…You’re a terrible, terrible person.”

Optimus bent and kissed his helm. “Says the mech who lied about being ticklish.”

“I have a right to protect my weaknesses.” Starscream put just the right amount of emphasis into his voice and expression to make Optimus flush.

Optimus gently wrapped his arms around Starscream, thumbs stroking his plating, but not in a teasing way. “…As do I.”

It was this that Prowl walked in on when he stepped into the bathing chamber and Optimus looked up mildly. “Do you need something, Prowl?”

Prowl was blinking at the somewhat bizarre image of both his respected Commander and a despised Seeker sharing a bath together, and cuddling – from the looks of it. Starscream was shooting him a slight glare for interrupting them and Optimus’s mask was open, a slight glow high on his cheekplates. With an effort, the SIC gathered himself. “Optimus, I had hoped to speak with you…”

Optimus looked down at his position and back up. “I’m not at liberty to move at the moment. What is this about?”

“…It concerns Starscream’s continued stay, Sir.” Prowl replied. “I can reschedule…”

“Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of Starscream.” Optimus told Prowl, waiting.

“…The officers have conferred.” Prowl began, voice tight. “And we want to ensure that Starscream’s movements and activities are monitored.”

Optimus frowned. “What would this… monitoring consist of?”

“A tracking bracelet, which will alert Red Alert to the presence of other Decepticons near Starscream, and an escort within the Ark.” Prowl stiffly explained. 

Optimus was about to object, but Starscream interrupted. “That’s reasonable.”

Optimus’s helm whirled back to him. “Starscream-“

“No, Optimus, we can’t expect them to trust me flat out.” Starscream shrugged. “They can watch me all day if they like, what better way to prove I’m not up to anything?”

Optimus opened his mouth, shut it again, then nodded, looking up at Prowl. “I trust Starscream implicitly. I had hoped my word would be enough, but if you require further assurances – and since Starscream does not object – then you can watch us for the rest of the war, if that is what is required to satisfy you. Satisfactory?” He knew he was angry and that it was irrational, but it hurt to see someone doubting his word. 

Prowl – predictably – had the tracking bracelet already to servo and Starscream lifted his wrist to let it snap into place snugly at the transformation seam. The Seeker seemed to be admiring the silver band as if it was a piece of jewelry, before he uncaringly dropped his servo back into the oil and re-settled. Inside, he was mentally cursing. Of course, he had known the Autobots were much less trusting than their Prime, but they were determined to make things difficult for him.

Optimus kissed the Seeker’s helm and looked up at Prowl. “I trust you are satisfied?”

“For now.” Prowl nodded and retreated.

“Aft.” Optimus muttered.

“It’s not very Primely to insult your soldiers.” Starscream reminded him. 

Optimus sighed and dropped them both under the oil for a long dunk, Starscream’s frame limp and pliant against his, trusting, and pulled the Seeker up. “I hate hearing them doubt you. I wouldn’t be here right now without you.”

“So you say.” Starscream shrugged as Optimus carefully maneuvered him up and onto a bench. “And so it may be. I have a little more faith in you than you seem to.” 

Optimus chuckled softly as he helped Starscream polish the excess oil off of his frame. True to the Seeker’s word, he was transformed into something magnificent with the dead nanites soaked off and polished away and the living ones beneath saturated in oils.

“You have a pearl coat.” Optimus reverently trailed his digits over the soft, shining surface. His own matte coat was much duller and shed dirt. Most of his Autobots had either matte or clear or mirrored coats. Only Tracks had a pearl coat and he never hesitated to rub it in Sunstreaker’s face when the two were having a Diva Fight. 

“Surprise.” Starscream smirked, lifting his own servo slightly to admire it. “It’s been a while since I had this maintained properly. I’d forgotten how it looked.”

“Primus.” Optimus reverently ran his digits over the white sections of Starscream’s abdomen. “…You are beautiful, Starscream.”

“Oh, stop.” Starscream looked away. “You’ll give me an ego. Help me back into my brace. I’m getting tired of lying down.”

Optimus buckled the armored braces around the Seeker and Starscream smoothly raised himself to his pedes, stretching his arms above his head. He shot a glance over his shoulder and winked at Optimus. Damn him for a tease, he knew exactly what he did to him.

This called for more sessions of tickling. Lots and lots of tickling.


	11. Contradiction

A few days later, Ratchet was scanning Starscream’s frame, the brace holding the Seeker stiff as he sat on the berth. Of course, Starscream chose the moment he had his helm beneath one of the Seeker’s wings to ask the one question Ratchet had never wanted to think. “…When can I interface with Optimus again?”

Ratchet’s helm came up on the bottom of the sensitive wing, causing Starscream to cry out in pain and the Convoy in question – who had been reading from a datapad – to jerk upright. “Are you all right?” He stood up and came to Starscream’s side.

“…Yes, I was just surprised.” Starscream shifted away from Ratchet and rubbed the wing. “I was just asking Ratchet when it would be safe to interface.”

“Could you have waited for a better moment?” Ratchet grumbled as he rubbed the back of his helm. “Give an old mech a spark attack…” 

“...I was curious about that too, Ratchet.” Optimus looked over at the medic as he took Starscream’s servo and held it. 

“Well, you should be fine.” Ratchet arranged his tools. “Just don’t take off the brace and don’t do anything crazy.”

“Define ‘crazy.’” Starscream chuckled softly. 

“Nothing that could land you back in my medbay with a broken neck strut instead of a pinched one.” Ratchet snapped.

Starscream turned to Optimus and said, in a perfect deadpan, “We’re going to have to hold off on the harness and crop then.”

Ratchet cursed a blue streak on his way to his office to hide from all manner of perverted Seekers and their weird aft ideas of interface.

Optimus sighed and took Starscream in his arms, nuzzling his helm. “…What am I going to do with you?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. What are you going to do with me, Optimus Prime?” He fluttered and flashed his optics up at his lover.

“Teasing Ratchet, distracting me… Punishment might be in order.”

“Oh? And what are you thinking?”

Optimus smirked behind that infuriating facemask. “You’ll see.”

 

Of course, that answer just set Starscream on a knife edge of anticipation long after he had left the med bay with Optimus, walking back to the Prime’s quarters. Of course, said “punishment” couldn’t begin that very moment. Work drew Optimus away with a kiss and an apology. 

Starscream was left to “rest” in his quarters carefully seated on the berth with a mass of pillows beneath his back and a datapad in servo. As he tried to read, he casually checked the clock. Three hours until evening energon. 

One heel bounced slightly as he waited, posing in different ways, trying to figure out how he should look when Optimus came in. That took up about thirty klicks of the time. 

Of course, Starscream had waited for far worse punishments than whatever playful idea Optimus had come up with. Anticipation of pain was nothing. He could take anything the Prime would dish out.

Anticipation of pleasure, though… That was unfamiliar. It left a new feeling tingling in his wings and between his legs. He had learned enough of his own frame to realize that it was arousal, but it made no sense to the Seeker. Arousal without subservience was a feeling he hadn’t had since the beginning of the war. Since Sentinel, in fact, and that had been four million years ago.

Starscream reached down to run his digits over his valve cover. It was heated and sensitive, his digits drawing trails over it. A gasp left his lipplates when he touched the seam. What was happening to him?

He stood up and went to a wall, leaning his forehelm against it and trying to calm himself. Arousal was a physical reaction as much as a mental one. It meant nothing. Probably nothing at all.

And so what if it did mean something? He was here with a purpose. A mech on a mission, and Megatron could frag him just as well as Optimus Prime. Probably would frag him right here in these quarters.

That thought was like a shock of cold water. No, he refused to think of Megatron fragging him here. It was sacrilegious to even think of Megatron in this place. These quarters might as well be holy in his processor. He would burn the place first, before he allowed that.

But… Megatron’s will was law, was his law. If Megatron ordered him to Optimus Prime’s berth, he would have to go. And after Optimus Prime was dead, being in his berth couldn’t hurt him. The Seeker’s objections ran together with his resolution and his processor began to scream under the strain. 

He collapsed into a ball on the floor, the brace making this position uncomfortable as he tried to bury his faceplates in the carpet. 

And it was there that the Prime found him, whimpering and clutching at the carpeting. 

“Starscream!” Optimus rushed to his side, dropping the cubes he had brought to a table. “Are you all right?” He reached out and touched Starscream’s back, running the pads of his digits over the Seeker’s smooth paintjob. “Tell me what’s wrong!”

Starscream couldn’t answer him. His vox box was choked up and his optics were squeezed shut. “No, no… I can’t…” He tried to respond in some way that would calm the Prime without compromising his cover, but he just couldn’t.

“Do you need Ratchet? Has something happened?” Optimus questioned. “Just nod or shake if you can’t speak.” 

Starscream shook his helm. He didn’t need Ratchet and nothing had happened. He had done this to himself.

“Did you have a nightmare? Primus, Starscream, please tell me what happened!” He cupped the Seeker to himself and looked for anything that might tell him what was happening.

Starscream wailed and the Convoy winced. “Shh… Shh… I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The Prime’s processor ran backwards in time and lit on “…Punishment might be in order.” Mentally, he cursed himself. Of course that had caused an anxiety attack. Starscream knew very well that Optimus would never hurt him, but vorns of experience with Megatron would say otherwise. “I’m not angry at you. I’m not. I promise I’m not. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Starscream. Shh… Shh…”

Starscream managed to get a handle on himself and wrangled his emotions back into place, stilling and stifling his audial-shattering sobs. “…I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a problem, Starscream. You don’t have to be sorry. I should be apologizing to you. I would never hurt you, Starscream.”

“I know. I just… got upset.” The Seeker sniffed. 

“Shh…” Optimus nuzzled his audial. “Get back in bed and I’ll get you some coolant. Let me spoil you a bit.”

Starscream nodded. “Okay.” As he slid back into the berth, his helm still ached with the contradictions he was going through.


	12. Violets

Bumblebee was the worst of them. Of all these soft, simpering, whimpering, moralistic morons, he was the worst. Optimus had proved he saw the world in more than shades of black and white, but Bumblebee… it was amazing he could see in color.

The little yellow volkswagon had been assigned as Starscream’s escort throughout his imprisonment and from day one, it was Pit. Perhaps all of this would have been more bearable if he had been assigned one of the twins, who would have taken any chance to pick on and restrict him. Bumblebee – who seemed to take Prime’s word as Gospel – saw this posting as more of an assignment to befriend Starscream than to keep a vicious Decepticon from murdering all of them in their berths.

As a result, Bumblebee was eager to share little secrets with him. To show Starscream all the marvelous things he knew about near the Ark and around it. He appeared at odd times of the day when Starscream wasn’t even going to go out to give him a look with his large, pleading eyes and tell him that there was something absolutely splendid that he absolutely had to see right this very instant.

And somehow, he always convinced the sour Seeker to take him up on these offers.

“You must be a lovely person beneath all the armor, or Optimus wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.” Bumblebee explained as he led Starscream along the path that he promised ended in violets and soft shadows beneath the trees. 

“Either that or I’m a terrible person and your Prime has bad taste.” Starscream retorted.

“I don’t think that’s true.” Bumblebee pushed aside some brush for the taller Seeker and they found themselves in a peaceful glade filled with light, green grass and blooming violets. “Here we are. See? Isn’t it worth the trip?”

“It would be worth more of the trip if I had flown here.” Starscream begrudgingly settled down on his knees to bend down and look at the violets more closely. He kept his wings high in a teek of the surrounding area, but it seemed that everything was safe for the moment. He was careful to sit as tightly pulled in and close together as possible to avoid crushing as many of the beautiful, delicate things as he could, and he didn’t reach out for them, as a younger version of himself might.

“Yes, but then you’d never have found it.” Bumblebee nodded to the small gap in the tree cover that was the only mark the glade existed. 

“Perhaps. I like to think I’m a better explorer than you know.” Starscream mused that he had yet to see Skyfire around the Ark. The large shuttle might be avoiding him, and it might be better if they continued to avoid each other.

“…Skyfire talks about you sometimes.” Bumblebee sat down next to the Seeker. “Did you really chart a thousand planets?”

“It was less than that, but not much less.” Starscream admitted. “I’m surprised Skyfire still thinks of those days. They seem so far away.”

“To you, maybe, but not to him. He was sleeping in the ice while all the rest of us were fighting our war.” Bumblebee hummed. “I think things still confuse him.” He confided to the Seeker. “Maybe if you talked to him, you could explain it.”

“That would require talking to him.” Starscream rocked slightly, wings flicking in annoyance. “And why would I want to do that?”

“Because he used to be your friend, and it’s always sad when you lose friends.” Bumblebee explained, holding up his servo to a passing butterfly and letting it perch on his digit. “And Skyfire misses you.”

“No, he misses the person he knew.” Starscream shook his helm. “And the person I am is someone entirely different, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t think he’d mind getting to know you then. He feels so isolated from everyone else. He didn’t see the things we all did, the things that formed us.”

Starscream chuffed. “That’s a rather wide claim, Bumblebee, to someone as old as I am. Did you watch your family slave away at industry not designed to help them? Were you forced out of your profession for your frametype?”

“No, but I lost my family when I was very young.” Bumblebee replied. “And I was forced to be a courier because I couldn’t be anything else. Then I had to flee Cybertron, only to be pursued by Megatron.”

“…That was not my idea.” Starscream admitted. “I would have happily let you go. The Decepticons have the Seekers: In a contest of reproduction, we would have won, but Megatron refused to see it that way.”

“And now Cybertron is little more than a husk.” Bumblebee leaned on his warm side. “…How old are you, Starscream?”

The Seeker gave a surprised warble through his nasal vent. “…Old enough to have been born during the days of our war with the Black Block Consortia, but right at the end.”

“I was born after that. My Carrier used to sing an old song about that conflict, about the way we pushed them back. Looking back at that now, it all seems like such nonsense.”

“What in particular?”

“The glories of war, how good it was to follow Sentinel through the gouts of death and come out finding oneself in the Well… It’s all stuff and nonsense.” Bumblebee pouted, folding his arms.

“But you can see why people sing such songs.” Starscream told him softly. “They need to inspire others, to say that there was a reason for all the loss and bloodshed. It is nonsense, little bee, but it’s nonsense because we have a need for purpose engrained into our very beings.”

“…That makes sense.” He looked up at the Seeker, azure optics meeting scarlet-gold. “There is more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?”

Starscream scoffed and stood up. “I’ve had quite enough of this squishiness. I’m going to fly back to the Ark. I won’t land until I see you outside it.” But Bumblebee noticed that he took care to step back from the glade before taking to the air, so the violets weren’t disturbed or scorched by his jets.


	13. A Refill

Optimus had a sixth sense for when someone was suffering. He could tell when Ratchet was feeling the loss of patients a little too keenly and he knew when Prowl was thinking of Praxus. Perhaps it was something in their EM fields, no matter how they tried to hide it. Perhaps it had to do with being the Matrix bearer, but he always knew.

So, when he began to pick up on Starscream’s distress, he had no idea what to do. With Ratchet, he might take a direct approach, the old medic was never one to hide from a problem he could face head-on. Starscream, though, had always brushed his problems off, covered them up with snark and sass and – in Optimus’s case, at least – a few sensual flicks of those large wings. In short, he was an expert at changing the conversation, shifting attention, and otherwise running away from the issue. 

Some detective work was warranted. Something to find out what was the matter with Starscream, why he wasn’t happy and what Optimus could do to fix that. Of course, the first person he thought of was Bumblebee. In spite of Starscream’s claim that the little Autobot was “sappy” and that he would prefer “those fragging twins,” the little scout and the Seeker had developed a rapport and Optimus was well aware that Starscream even harbored affection for Bumblebee. Perhaps that was why he didn’t want the scout as his guard, because he was afraid of how attached he was growing. 

Either way, Bumblebee was the one to catch. So, Optimus called him into his office while Starscream was taking a nap after an energetic flight. A windstorm was blowing outside and he had insisted on taking some exercise inside it. 

Bumblebee saluted as he entered Optimus’s office. “Prime, sir!”

“At ease, Bumblebee, this is a personal appointment.” Optimus stood up and walked around the desk, sitting in one of the chairs in front of it, while Bumblebee took the other. “Bumblebee, what do you make of Starscream?”

Bumblebee relaxed back and sat down across from the Prime. “He’s nice.” The scout decided finally. “But guarded. He can be extremely abrasive.”

“Does he seem unhappy to you?”

“…Not really. Do you think he is?”

Optimus shrugged. “It can be hard to be certain with Starscream.” He admitted. “He hides his true self too well for his own good.”

“Oh. Well, he seems okay when I’m with him…”

“Does anyone give him trouble?”

Bumblebee burst out laughing. “The twins tried, but he let it roll right off of him and sassed them right back.”

Optimus chuckled, having been on the sharp end of Starscream’s acerbic wit once or twice himself. “I would have liked to see that.”

“It was amazing. Sunstreaker just stood there blinking and Sideswipe could barely speak!” Bumblebee gloated over it. “I think Starscream managed to simultaneously drag them through the mud and compliment them, and it broke their processors.”

“Well, you will tell me if anything nasty goes on?” Optimus questioned Bumblebee. 

“Of course, Prime. If I find out anything, I’ll tell you.” Bumblebee promised. “I want Starscream to settle in with us. He’d be a great addition.”

“I agree.” Optimus smiled at the young scout and patted his horned helm as he stood up. “Thank you, Bumblebee.”

“It’s no problem, Prime!” Bumblebee transformed and rushed off down the corridors.

Optimus sat behind his desk and steepled his digits, thinking deeply.

 

Starscream cursed softly as he looked at himself in the mirror. Regular oil baths had practically restored him to a pre-war state – it was amazing what self-care could do – but he had run out of lippaint and glossy and the difference was stark. It was time to pay a visit to the one place he had avoided like the plague: The Laboratories deep in the Ark.

Bumblebee arrived as usual at about halfway through the morning and Starscream greeted the little minibot. “I need to pay a visit to the labs today.”

“Okay!” Bumblebee agreed easily. “We’ll have to talk to Perceptor before they’ll let you in, I think. What do you want to make?”

“I’ve run out of glossy.” Starscream explained as he walked alongside the Volkswagon bug. 

“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t think Perceptor will mind if you make that. It’s not a weapon.” Bumblebee agreed and they went to find the red microscope.

Perceptor was working with Skyfire in one of the main labs. When Bumblebee knocked on the door, he bustled over and opened it. “What is it, Bumblebee? We’re very busy.”

“Oh… I guess we could come back later.” Bumblebee looked up at Starscream. “Starscream just wanted to fabricate some things.”

“What things?” Perceptor snapped, optics locking on Starscream. The rifle on his shoulder was sure to be warming up. 

“Poison for the energon storage, what else?” Starscream sweetly replied. “I’ve run out of my cosmetics.”

“…Oh.” Perceptor looked taken-aback. Given how many resources Sunstreaker took up with his own cosmetics, he couldn’t exactly refuse Starscream, especially since Optimus would probably hear about it eventually. “All right. I’ll get you a workstation. Don’t touch anything.”

“Thank you.” Starscream stepped into the lab and Bumblebee noticed his wings tensing when he saw Skyfire. “Hello… Skyfire.” The Seeker leaned against an open counter, not letting his consternation show.

“Starscream.” Skyfire looked sadly at him, big servos at their work. 

“All right. You can have this one.” Perceptor told Starscream, pointing to one of the workstations where he had arranged some basic equipment and the ingredients Sunstreaker usually used for his own cosmetics. “Try not to make a mess.”

“I have been in a lab before.” Starscream snarked, settling at the workstation and rearranging the ingredients. Bumblebee watched closely as he began measuring out wax and sparkling chips of mica and deep, scarlet dye.

Starscream had already decided to change his faceplate’s usual look to reflect a more traditional Vosnian paint and black was not a lip color in his home city. Further, he had always looked amazing in red, which was precisely why he normally saved it for occasions. 

Then again, in this masquerade, every day was an occasion.


	14. Something to Hold

Optimus lay on his front and watched Starscream lining his optics with dark, iridescent peacock blue and black. The Seeker was trying out new things, painting his optics with long, black lines, angled curves, or even with dark, blocky shapes. It had been two months since Ratchet had declared his back struts fully healed and eight since Optimus had carried the bloody, battered mech into the Ark. Ever since the Seeker had run out of his cosmetics, he had been trying on new patterns, new colors. The Prime hadn’t seen the same color scheme or pattern twice in a row. To be frank, it was becoming frustrating.

The Seeker was struggling with the blue color, struggling to keep the lines even. He kept cursing beneath his vox box and wiping the marks off with a rag. 

Optimus was no closer to figuring out why Starscream was hurting. The last time he had tried to confront Starscream, it had ended with the Seeker screaming at him to leave him alone, and spending the next few days sleeping over at Bumblebee’s, until he returned and acted like nothing had happened. It was almost admirable. Starscream’s self control, his mastery of his own emotions, had to be amazing. More than amazing, they had to be legendary. And it was making Optimus nervous. No one could control themselves for forever. When Starscream’s control finally broke, what would happen? Would he self-destruct, unable to handle the emotions? Would their relationship implode, weighted down by issues that had never been addressed? A more painful thought: If there was a whole other side to Starscream like this, did they have much of a relationship at all?

Another small, soft curse and Starscream unhappily stared at the uneven blue and black wing extending from his left optic, not matching the right optic’s lines at all. 

Optimus sighed and pushed himself up, strolling over to the Seeker. He had built a vanity for Starscream, a gift, and a poor one, if he was honest, but it had stunned the Seeker. This plain piece of furniture, made from recycled materials and crudely cobbled together with bolts may as well have been solid gold. Starscream wouldn’t hear a word against it, or the equally crude stool with a soft cushion – Bumblebee had suggested that or he wouldn’t have thought of it – and he refused to do his face anywhere else. 

Only one thing had cast a pall over the gift. Starscream hadn’t expected a present, had no idea. It had been a surprise, something the Prime had come up with in his sparest of spare time, and Starscream had acted like he had never received a present that was given simply for its sake. He had had nothing to give in return and the Prime had seen it eating away at the Seeker, sinking into his plating and into his struts, making him squirm. Then, there had been a flash of inspiration and the Seeker had reached into his subspace and pulled out a bright red crystal point. A paperweight from Vos: A childhood treasure, worth more than any vanity.

The Prime had it on his desk. Sometimes, he stroked or caressed it when the day was hard and he needed a boost. 

Right now, he picked Starscream up gently and pulled him into his lap, sitting down on the stool, which gave a protesting creak. Taking the cloth, he gently wiped the offending lines once more and then began erasing the rest of Starscream’s face. The Seeker didn’t protest, servos wrapping around his wrist and holding on, letting him do what he pleased. 

Optimus rendered the dark faceplates bare and shining with their own, soft radiance. Then, he leaned his chin on Starscream’s shoulder and looked into the mirror with Starscream, opening his facemask. The line across his lips was unsightly, but for the Seeker it hadn’t mattered. Sometimes, Optimus thought Starscream didn’t even really notice.

“…I love you.” Optimus told the Seeker, watching his expression in the glass, watching the wings twitch and flutter, feeling his field warm.

“I love you too.” Starscream replied, voice soft, almost below hearing. 

“If there was something bothering you, if there was a problem, would you tell me?”

“…Why?” Starscream whispered suddenly, quietly. “Why would I burden you with my problems? You have so much work to do, and I’d rather be a feather bed than a bed of nails.”

“Because you deserve a featherbed too.” The Prime nuzzled his shoulder. 

“…I’ve never had this before.” The Seeker whispered. “I’ve never had a love like this. Except… And it was a long time ago. I’m happy. I’m really, truly happy.”

The Prime stroked his cheek. “Then what’s bothering you?”

“I keep feeling like it’s all ending.” Coolant began to well up in his optics. 

Optimus kissed his neck. “I will always love you. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that.” Starscream became agitated and started squirming. “You can’t promise that!”

“Of course, I can.” Optimus knew Starscream well enough to recognize when he wasn’t struggling to get away from the mech, but from the question, and held on. “I always will.”

Starscream went limp and flopped against him, turning and curling into the Convoy’s windshield, wings trembling. Optimus cradled him close and patted his back, processor churning for something to help the Seeker understand. Something he could grip. He remembered how overjoyed Starscream had been when he had guided the Seeker into the berthroom and showed him the vanity. He remembered how the Seeker had touched it all over, reverently, and how he had become almost afraid afterwards, when he found he had nothing to give back. 

There was a gift he could give Starscream without the Seeker feeling anxious to give anything in return, but it was… A life-changing proposal. It was the most solid, most concrete thing a Cybertronian could give another, and there was only one thing that would be appropriate in return. Starscream… He might not be ready, but perhaps the gesture… Perhaps knowing how deeply Optimus wanted him would be enough, and no one said they would have to bond immediately. Having something to hold, a gift that would make everything clear, that was the point of the matter.

So, Optimus went to see Wheeljack and spent an hour explaining to the inventor what he wanted made and convincing the reluctant bomb specialist to do it.


	15. Good-Bye

Starscream dangled his pedes towards the ground below. It might be easier to just push himself off, let himself fall to be crushed and splintered on the rocks below. 

He had known about Wheeljack’s special project for the Prime. The absent scientist had been synthesizing sapphires right in front of the Seeker. Probably thought he had been stealthy enough that the Seeker hadn’t seen him, wouldn’t understand. Fool. 

Moonstone petals, smoothly polished with a flash of blue across them, sapphire centers and detailed, faceted diamonds all around them. Each flower set into platinum-plated titanium: Decorative and strong. Magnetized to keep out of the way of his transformations, each spacer between the three flowers adorned with a knot and centered around a star ruby. So much care taken with every petal, even though Wheeljack had to know the necklace was meant for him. Meant for Starscream.

No, he had not come across the gift on accident. He had known for a long, long time that the necklace was designed for him, that it was being made, and that it heralded a question he couldn’t bear to answer. 

This had never happened before. From the moment Sentinel had taken him to his berth, he had been a dead mech, and Starscream had taken care to kill as many of his as he could. He was poison to Sentinel, and the old, rusted mech had been a deeply satisfying mission. 

But Optimus was not Sentinel. He didn’t even resemble the fragger. Perhaps if he did, this would be easier. Because really, it couldn’t be more simple to say “yes” and ask for time to wait, request that the war be over before they conjoined their sparks. Then, when an opportunity came, strike. Kill them all. If he was being honest, the opportunity had already come, many times before, and each time his hand had been stayed. His spark had longed for just one more day. One more day to be treasured, and cherished. To run away from the rotten center he knew was buried beneath his polished, shining plating. Just one more day to be held. 

And one more day had lasted nearly a year. It was the anniversary of that day on the cliff’s edge, when Optimus had flung his arms around him and dragged him back from destruction – as if he was something worth saving. 

Starscream held the necklace up to the light and tried to make himself drop it. Tried to make himself let go, but his digits had a life of their own, clutched the precious thing. He had gone searching for it in Optimus’s desk in his office and found it in a secret drawer. Perhaps the Prime had been planning to surprise him with it, to bring it out on some special day and present it with a casual flourish to Starscream. To ask for his spark, as if it was a prize anyone would want. 

Starscream had spoiled all that by searching the necklace out and taking it, carrying it away and out here. He hadn’t even asked Bumblebee to accompany him. It didn’t matter. No one had tried to stop him from leaving. 

Eventually, it would get back to Optimus that he had left – unsupervised and without his “friend” Bumblebee – and the Convoy would come looking for him. He would probably be worried. If he had returned to his desk and found the drawer empty, he would know what Starscream had found. Maybe he would be nervous, thinking that Starscream had sussed out his idea and been frightened by what he knew was coming. But knowing Optimus, he would come, searching doggedly. He would search the forest until he found Starscream, and he would not stop until he had the Seeker safe and sound. That was just who Optimus Prime was, and Starscream had long ago accepted that, and welcomed it.

He had welcomed it like a masochist, sucking down bittersweet pains and puckering his lipplates up as he lived among the Autobots. Loving Optimus seemed to come naturally after awhile. It had stopped being false, and he had begun to suffer for it. The Prime had somehow picked up on the pain Starscream took such cares to hide. The mech could be annoyingly good at that. He had tried to fix Starscream – to make life easier for him. He had built him a piece of furniture, nothing he would possibly have a use for, and expected nothing in return. And Starscream had ached in his silence, ached in the love that flowed all around him, and tried to hold in his own feelings. What was he but poison in the end? Always poison.

What should he do when the Prime inevitably came? When the sound of his engine rumbled through the woods and a truck unfolded next to him. Would he be annoyed when he found the Seeker? Angry that he had gone through the Prime’s drawers? No, probably not. Optimus understood the worry that someone was keeping secrets. He knew that Starscream had picked up on the ones he was keeping and would understand why Starscream would be driven to distraction, aching to understand. 

If he accepted the proposal, it would be the end. He would never be a Decepticon again. He would toil for this new master, whose chains were not forged of steel, but love, and he would be happy, until everything sweet was consumed, as it always was, and only bitter poison remained. Perhaps they would drink that cup together, the sweet and the bitter, and be happy in their aching sparks. Perhaps Starscream would see that an end was made before the Prime he loved so dearly had to taste that bitterness. 

If he accepted, then Optimus would sweep him up in his arms and fold him close. He would kiss him and pour wine down his throat with each one. They would probably make love, there on the ridge, in the waning light and under the winking stars. The Convoy would lower his helm to his body and drink him in, and Starscream would do the same for him. There would be joy and laughter, music and light, pleasure and completion. In time, as the war ended – and with Starscream working with Optimus so closely, sharing all he knew of the Decepticons, helping him – it would be swift, there might even be Sparklings, if his rotten frame could support such innocent life. 

But Optimus would find out in time. In time, he would look beneath Starscream’s beautiful veneer. He would see the rot, and then he would be disgusted, angry. There would be no more blissful days spent in each other’s arms, no more kisses and loving words. They might remain together – as bonded mates did – but they would stop being happy. Optimus would not be happy. Eventually, he would know the rotten thing he had decided to berth, to love, and he would revile Starscream like everyone else did. 

Knowing Optimus, he would try to keep it together. He would hide his disgust, wear love like a mask. In front of their sparklings, he would love Starscream as dearly as any mech with his bonded, but behind their bedroom doors… there would be nothing more of what there was now. No sensual, hot nights with the doors locked. No sweet mornings, drowsily caressing each other. Because beneath the surface, he was rotten, poison, and if he loved the Prime, he would spare him from this fate. It was the fate of everyone who loved Starscream. 

His mind flicked back, to a vial of vibrantly blue poison. He could knock it back like an engex shot, let it burn out the rot directly from around his spark chamber and down through his gestation tank, into his innards. It would melt through his throat, burn out his vox box, and keep pouring straight through him, liquidizing and burning him. If he was really feeling dramatic, he might pour it into his audials and let it burn into his processor. He wasn’t sure which would be quicker, and it didn’t matter. Acid would eat through him like paper and he would be gone. The poison would be gone. 

Optimus would be safe, forever, from him. 

But those were the actions of a hero and he was not a hero. He was poison, and he never spared anyone who tasted him. His Prime would touch his rotten center and he would die – either instantly or slowly. And Starscream would be the tool, the means of execution. 

But he was not the murderer. He had no choice. Poison, once released, could not stay its own servo, could not spare a victim. It could only be cured, and the cures would burn. 

The sound of a deep engine reached Starscream’s ears and the Convoy transformed, standing. “Starscream, I thought I might find you here.”

Starscream closed his eyes and coolant began streaking down his face. “Optimus.” He cradled the necklace, the flowers glinting, the stones glowing. 

“So… You found it.” Uneasily, almost nervous, Optimus came to sit beside him, sitting close, pressed to him, but not putting his arms around him. Not yet. “I had hoped to surprise you, but…” He trailed off, perhaps noticing the black streaks on Starscream’s faceplates. The Seeker had gone back to his original style of make-up, to black lips and dark grey glossy and black lines around his optics. This was how he looked the best, with the occasional flash of red. Really, he was a plain person. Nothing he wore was a huge change from what he naturally looked like. “Don’t you… Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful, Optimus.” Starscream sobbed, vents hitching deeply. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

Optimus took that as encouragement, pulling the Seeker into his lap and drying the tears on his faceplates with soft digits. “Will you bond with me, Starscream?”

Starscream leaned his helm against the Prime’s windshield and sniffled, closing his optics. No.

He could hear the spark beneath his ear, beating in time, singing. The Prime was waiting, hoping, wanting an answer. And poisonous, rotten Starscream would have poured engex into his audials and let him drink deep from a tainted well. 

No.

The spark was turning, the beat erratic. Was anyone else ever this close to the Prime? Did Bumblebee ever lean his helm on his chest to listen to the great spark turning? Had he held another close, either to comfort them or to love them, and had they heard this song as well? Or was it a serenade specifically for a poisonous Seeker?

No, this spark…

This spark deserved to go on turning, to go on singing. It should never taste poison. If Starscream could, he would pluck out all the stars in the sky if it meant that this one mech would never die. 

So poison turned on itself instead. 

He pushed away from the Prime, stood up, and cradled the necklace. Optimus looked after him, optics full of love, worrying, hoping.

Starscream said a mental good-bye to that look. To that love. He would never see it again. “…You shouldn’t love me.” He whispered, but he knew that Optimus heard. 

“Don’t say things like that!” The Prime stood up, turning on the Seeker, towering over him, servos reaching for him. “You deserve to be loved. By me or anyone else.”

“No, I really don’t.” Starscream pressed the necklace into his servos. “I lied.” He closed sapphire digits over the decorative stones. “Megatron sent me here. He ordered me to seduce you, and to strike when the time was right. I’ve done it before.”

“Sentinel was – “

“A monster, yes. But that doesn’t change what I am.” Starscream dropped his servos to his sides. “I’m a liar, a whore, and poison.”

“No!” Heatedly denied, thrust aside. The necklace was dropped, uncared for, and Optimus seized his shoulders, shaking the Seeker. “Never say such things about yourself! Never!”

“It’s true.” Starscream wheezed softly through vents that were beginning to choke with emotion. “I’m sorry. It’s true.”

“I refuse to believe that everything we’ve shared has been a lie!” 

“It wasn’t.” Starscream agreed. “That’s why I’m telling you this.”

“If it isn’t a lie, then there’s no issue. Come home with me, and we’ll forget all this. You don’t have to fulfill whatever Megatron told you to.”

“I don’t have a home, Optimus, and you don’t know me.” Starscream took his servos and pulled, pushing them off of himself. “I have to return to my place, and you have to return to yours.”

In shock, the Prime turned away, reeling slightly as he fell to his knees. “…What will he do to you?”

“I don’t know.” Starscream admitted, no need to ask who “he” was. “It’s the first time I’ve ever failed him.” It felt good to say it. “I have been his best, most loyal soldier. I don’t think he’ll take this well.”

“He’ll kill you.” There was a quiet certainty in his voice. 

“Very likely.” Starscream agreed.

“No!” There was something wild in the Prime that flared up and he reared, roaring, to grab Starscream and capture him again, servos clamping down over his sky blue ones, painfully, pulling and crushing them in the process, desperate not to let him go. Starscream was sure he felt a strut snap, and welcomed the pain. “I won’t let him hurt you! I won’t let you go back to him!”

“So, you’ll force me to come back with you? You may as well snap my neck now, because if you force me to stay, neither of us will be happy. It will be a slower kind of death, a crueler one, but death.” 

Optimus released him as if he had burned the Seeker and Starscream met his optics – burning with emotions no mech alive would be able to articulate – calmly. He owed him this. “…Please. Please, Starscream, don’t go. Can’t you see that I love you?”

“I can.” Starscream stepped back, turning to face the sun and closing his servos into fists. “And it’s because I love you, that I have to do this. I hope, someday, you’ll understand.”

“…Will you come back?” The question was forlorn and quiet, mournful.

“No.” Starscream didn’t look back, couldn’t. “This is good bye, Optimus. I hope you find a mech who can love you as much as you deserve to be loved.”

“…” The Prime knelt and picked up the necklace, brushing it off, and looking down into one of the cabochons, into his reflected optics. “…There will never be anyone else. There’s no one like you.”

“…Good-bye, Optimus.” Starscream leapt off the edge of the ridge and let himself fall for a few moments before transforming. There was no joy in his flight as he sped over the mountains and the trees, away from the only mech who had ever loved him.


	16. An Ending?

Optimus returned to the base, spirit broken. In his servos, he cradled the engagement necklace. Wheeljack was hanging about near the entrance to the Ark, probably to ask some clever question, but he stopped when he saw the expression on Optimus’s faceplate, the set of his mouth and the dimness of his optics. 

Bumblebee’s optics, worried and azure, fixed on the Prime and he walked alongside the much larger Convoy. “Optimus? Are you okay?” He questioned softly, putting a servo on his arm. 

“Leave me be, Bumblebee.” Optimus gently shook him off. “I need some time alone.” He headed to his quarters and stopped halfway there because he knew what he would find. In the living room, there would be Starscream’s datapads, all the little nonsense projects he had drawn and made up to occupy his mind while Optimus was busy. In the berthroom, there would be the vanity that he had so loved, all of his paints arranged on it. Of course, then there was the berth itself. It probably still smelled of the sky and of their couplings. 

The washracks had their own share of memories, of shared bathing and of polishing. Of the Seeker extending his claws to preen the Prime and Optimus’s initial fear of the sharp, dagger-like appendages. But he had found them gentle and pleasantly charged, and even the pricks of the tips as Starscream scraped filth out from his seams in a way brushes had never been able to had been pleasant. The whole thing had left him clear and clean and Starscream smirking. The Seeker had pressed a thumb directly into a sensitive spot and sent the Prime into an overload right there. 

No, he couldn’t go back to his rooms.

He went to his office instead. Starscream had never liked it in here. Too gloomy, too many datapads full of numbers and plans. Whenever he came in here, it was usually to pry Optimus out, so here Optimus would try to get some work done, and keep his mind off things.

And if he slumped at his desk and caressed a certain crystal more than he did actual work, no one was there to see or know.

 

Starscream landed on the Nemesis’s flight deck. Using all of his tricks, he kept himself silent and unseen as he went to report to Lord Megatron. Entering his master’s quarters, he found the huge, silver mech in berth with Soundwave, rutting together.

Starscream watched them from the shadows, wings drawn in slightly. Of course, he had never expected monogamy from Megatron. Theirs was not a love. He was a slave, after all, and Soundwave was much worthier of Megatron’s affections. 

…But something stirred in his processor as he watched. Soundwave was sporting dents in his plating, chips in his paint. He had been beaten recently, and Megatron… Megatron was being far, far too rough for the Communications Officer’s small frame. 

And Starscream remembered a hundred interfaces just like it, and the burn of a split valve afterwards. 

…Soundwave wasn’t poison. Starscream knew the mech. He knew him better than Soundwave ever thought he did. He saw the Carrier tucking in his little cassettes. He saw him attending to his duties. If anyone deserved exaultation in their faction, it was Soundwave. He could be a slippery little snake and he was far too devoted, but he was not rotten. He was not poison.

Megatron’s treatment of Soundwave hurt something deep within Starscream and the Seeker decided it was time for an interruption. “Ahem.” He cleared his vents with a dry cough, startling both mechs on the berth. 

“Starscream!” Soundwave exclaimed and scrambled to grab for a weapon.

Megatron waved him off, lazy and self-assured. “Don’t worry, Soundwave. Starscream is no threat.” He smiled at the other mech, lounging slightly. “Well, is it done?”

Starscream forced the words out, keeping his optics locked on Soundwave. “…No.”

Megatron’s aura became infuriated. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I have failed, my lord.” Starscream replied, almost relishing it. “The Autobots live.”

Absolute silence fell on the room. Soundwave stared between the two mechs, faceplates confused and almost hurt. Megatron’s faceplates had twisted into something ugly. Starscream, feeling untouchable and far away, passively stood, waiting. 

“…It seems I have no further use for you then.” The massive tank spoke silkily.

“Thank you, my lord.” Starscream murmured and went to get his vial. 

 

Optimus laid his forehelm against the glass of the window. How long had it been since he had last slept? It felt like it had been days. It had been a decacycle since Starscream had gone to Megatron and no one had seen an inch of his plating or the flash of his scarlet optics.

Jazz came in. “…Prime.” The usually cheerful spy spoke to him. “You need to refuel.” There was a cube in his hand. 

“I don’t want anything.” Optimus replied, touching the middle flower of the group of three. The necklace in his servos shimmered softly.

Jazz set the cube down on the desk. “He wouldn’t want you to be like this.” The black and white mech told him, gently. “He would think your grief wasted.”

“And how would you know?” Optimus snapped, optics blazing and turning on him. “None of you bothered to know him at all.” Shoulders slumping, he turned back to the window. “Not even I knew him.” His optics fixed on the horizon. Sometimes, he almost saw the glint of Seeker wings there.

Jazz knew the pain of losing loved ones too well to let his spark harden against Optimus’s own pain. “Optimus. You have to go on. We need you to lead us.” 

The Prime gave him a dull, despairing look. 

“Honor him by ending the war, and then… There’s always hope, Optimus.” Jazz replied. “We’ve not seen him, neither dead nor alive, so one is as likely as the other.”

“Do you truly believe that when it’s Megatron we have to contend with?” Optimus questioned.

Jazz could not answer.


	17. Even The Violets Weep

Optimus turned his full processor to war. Not to destruction, as Megatron did, but to war itself. Jazz and Prowl advised him and Wheeljack was at his side. There was no more nonsense, no humor or ridiculous projects. Every battle the focus was entirely on putting as many of the Decepticons out of action and taking them captive as possible. 

Optimus himself went with blazing optics for Megatron. They were still very evenly matched, but… there was something new about the Prime. He no longer held himself back when facing his adversary. Whenever he thought of mercy, Starscream’s faceplates swam before his optics and a wave of hatred rose in his chest plates.

Prowl, Ironhide, and the Twins were the only ones pleased by this change. Ratchet, who had to repair Optimus whenever he and Megatron went at it like animals, delivered a constant lecture. “You stupid, slagging, under-thinking, over-tempered mech!” He chastised the Prime as he welded split plating back together. 

“I apologize, Ratchet.” Optimus softly replied. Sometimes, it took effort to keep his temper of late. He knew it was just his own grief manifesting itself against the mechs around him – especially the Twins, who could not and would not understand the grief he felt for Starscream’s miserable fate. But Ratchet, who understood more than he let on, Ratchet he could not be angry with, nor with Bumblebee who had been understandably devastated when his friend returned to an angry master to face death. 

“…This isn’t how to honor him.” Ratchet threw down his tools. “Starscream doesn’t want your energon on his grave, and he doesn’t want to see the mech he loves become the one who murdered him.” He spat the words, aiming for maximum hurt. “Don’t make avenging him your reason for going on. He’d laugh at you, and you know it. You have to find another way, Optimus. Talk to Bumblebee, for Primus sake. He made a friend of that Seeker, and he’s hurting too, but he’s not going to pieces.” 

Optimus didn’t make the coward’s argument. Bumblebee felt the loss of every one of his deceased friends as dearly as Optimus did. If only because he was a highly empathetic little mech, he would be feeling the same pains Optimus was. More, perhaps, because he was frightened of what the Prime he admired was becoming. And Ratchet was right: He was turning into Megatron. 

He could almost hear Starscream making a sarcastic comment on the subject right then and there. 

Bumblebee was at the violet glade. The flowers were blooming again, purple and soft. “Hi, Optimus.” Bumblebee looked up. He had a printed glossy photo in one servo. Starscream, himself, and Optimus, all three of them looking into a camera and waving. Bumblebee’s arm took up the corner where he had been holding the recorder and Starscream was holding up two digits behind Bumblebee’s helm. A mischief maker in every way. 

“…Hello, Bumblebee.” The Prime dropped to the grass and sat with one knee propped under himself and the other up so he could lean his servos and helm on it. “…How long has it been?”

“…Almost… thirteen decacycles.” Bumblebee answered, putting the photo back into his subspace. “There aren’t as many violets this year.”

“There wasn’t enough rain.” The Prime observed.

“It’s not the water.” Bumblebee shook his head. “I watered this glade every day for the past month. It’s something about the soil, or the sun.”

“I don’t know enough about gardening.” Optimus reached down and stroked the earth. It seemed healthy enough, but the violets had decreased, noticeably. 

“…I think they know he’s gone.” Bumblebee confided. “After I showed him where to find this place… he was here every day, when he went joy-flying.”

“So, they didn’t come up because there’s no one to see him?” Optimus sighed, touching a small patch of bare, heart-shaped leaves. There were tiny, pale buds, but they seemed blighted and stunted. They hadn’t bloomed. “…Imagine. This organic, wondrous world being so empathetic that it mourned every person who perished on it.”

“It would never be done mourning.” Bumblebee shrugged. “It was a silly idea.”

“It was exactly the kind of idea he would have liked.” The Prime stated after a long pause. “Just fantastic enough to be plausible.” 

“Really?”

“He read all of Tolkien. Cover to cover in a single day.” Optimus stared down at the blighted violets until his optics began to blur. “And all he would talk about for three days was how large the scope of Middle Earth was, how detailed the imagination was. He adored Bilbo Baggins, and Smaug. He would have loved to see Bilbo tame Smaug, even ride him. I think he might have cried when he learned the dragon was dead. He was too upset to see the movies.”

“…I don’t like the dragon dying either.” Bumblebee admitted. “He was so majestic.”

“Yes, but evil as well. He liked all the wrong characters and wanted them to win.” Optimus realized that coolant was streaking down his faceplates. He let it. “He read the Thrawn Trilogy and the Duology and he was genuinely angry when Luke and Mara killed the clone of him. He wanted so badly for Thrawn to return.”

“He loved books. …He borrowed my Harry Potter set, and wouldn’t give it back until he’d read them all five times.” Bumblebee admitted.

“So it was you who let him at that.” Optimus shook his helm. “I could have told you that was a bad idea. And the science books.”

“Oh, Primus, we can’t forget those.” The little yellow mech rolled his optics to the sky. “Everything on human anatomy, biology, culture, the structure of the world…”

“He was never finished.” The Prime commiserated. “Always learning. Always hungry. I guess he wasn’t used to standing still and not working.”

“…I tried to help him. I knew he was bored, but he needed work.” Bumblebee leaned against the Prime, wistfully thinking. 

“I wish I had given him some of my paperwork, or a lab.” Optimus admitted. “I was afraid to make waves.”

“Eh. Paperwork wasn’t really his forte.” Bumblebee shrugged. “But he would have loved a lab.” There was a long silence. “…It’s good to see you crying for him.” Bumblebee told Optimus suddenly. “I don’t think you have been thinking of him, not properly.”

Optimus sniffed and wiped his optics. “…No, I haven’t. I just let myself get wrapped up in the fact that he was gone and it was Megatron who took him from me.”

“It’s good to let things out, let them go. He’ll understand, Optimus.” Bumblebee stood up, looking around the glade. “He’ll understand us moving on, going on.”

“…Yes, he will.” Optimus touched his windshield above the Matrix. “He’s not truly gone, so long as we remember him, and he’s resting now.”

Bumblebee snorted. “No, he isn’t. He’s reorganizing the Well’s closets and fabricating new ways to make mischief.”

Optimus let himself smile a little, just a little. “…At least, he’s not in pain anymore.”

“I’ll agree with you on that.” Bumblebee offered the Prime a servo and helped him to his feet. “…If you need to talk about him, I promise I’ll do my best to listen. I know, I’m not always good at it, but… He was my friend, and I love both of you.” The little yellow mech told the hulking Convoy.

Optimus patted the horned head. “You have wisdom I don’t always have, Bumblebee. Thank you.” And they walked out of the barren glade together.


	18. The Ending

Starscream was frowning at him. An ugly, disappointed expression. “You stopped looking for me.”

“You’re dead.” Optimus whispered to him. “You’re dead. It’s been vorns.”

“You stopped looking for me!” The Seeker’s wings flared up. At his throat, the moonstones and sapphires blazed. “I’ve never stopped waiting for you!”

“I can’t help you any more, Starscream. You’re dead.” Optimus told him again, going to him and taking his arms gently, pulling him down and onto his lap. “You’re dead.”

“You fool.” Starscream spat. “You coward. You false lover.” And he continued to rant until Optimus woke up.

The Prime woke on the Ark. Under repair and preparation, the Autobots – and the remaining Decepticon prisoners – were returning to Cybertron. Reaching into the drawer beside his bed, he pulled out a slim, black case and opened it, looking inside. The necklace was still there. He had never found the spark to put it from him entirely. 

They hadn’t found a body, or a living mech. There was no frame to melt after it had been laid in state. There was nothing he could do for his lover, but the dreams continued. Perhaps, when they left earth behind, he could leave this spectre of Starscream behind as well. 

Deep in his spark, he knew that wasn’t possible. Starscream would be at his side well into eternity. If only he wasn’t so angry in his dreams…

If only there was peace.

 

Optimus didn’t understand what brought him back, time and again to this place where Starscream had lived. According to Megatron – who rasped out his last weapons as he lay on a battlefield, pierced through, he had died here, on the very berth Optimus was sitting on. A vial of white acid, burning through his internals and putting a most agonizing end to such a beautiful and clever mech. It didn’t seem possible, almost, but by then, Megatron had no reason to lie, and no spark had been detected, though they scanned the Nemesis a million times.

So, here he sat, in a room that had been stripped of personal belongings – he had laid claim to them, most as momentos, but the datapads for Wheeljack. He had found the shattered vial that had held the acid in a corner, tossed aside and empty. They had been largely untouched. Soundwave – who could have claimed them – had left them empty and kept his old rooms, and no one else dared take the rooms of a traitor. 

Here, Starscream’s spectre seemed the most solid, angry and accusing: “You stopped looking!” As if there were anything to find but a greying frame. Megatron had claimed that Starscream had been thrown into the bilges of the Nemesis to rot – and they had found a slew of empty, greyed out frames of various Decepticon soldiers. There had to be a mass burial and the stench was unimaginable. So, Starscream still hadn’t had his funeral. Perhaps that was why Optimus hurt so badly, because the Seeker hadn’t been mourned. 

There was a quiet step and the door of the room opened. Soundwave stepped in. The telepath had been the first to surrender when Megatron fell, and according to the agreements that had been struck, he was allowed to roam free provided that he caused no mischief. “Optimus Prime: Often returns to this place.”

“Yes, Soundwave. I suppose I do.” Optimus agreed. 

“Starscream: Is missed.” Soundwave nodded slightly, understanding.

“More than missed.”

“Optimus Prime: Wishes closure.”

The Prime pitched back on the berth. “Soundwave, stop speaking in riddles. Do you know where Megatron stashed Starscream’s frame?”

“Affirmative.” Soundwave gestured to the berth. “Optimus Prime: Sitting on it.”

The Convoy leapt to his pedes and whirled, staring at the berth as if it might bite him. “What!?”  
“Megatron: Liar. Starscream: Not thrown to the bilge.” Soundwave moved forwards and pulled the mattress off of the berth, revealing a lid. “Instead: Sealed in a chest.”

Optimus ran a hand along the lid. “It’s been welded and sealed.”

“Megatron: Desired it to be in the manner of ancient coffins.” Soundwave tipped his head. “Starscream: Impeccable soldier. Until you.”

“…But of course, not publicly. Publicly, he was a traitor and scum.” Optimus gave the spymaster a grim smile. “So Megatron buried him beneath his own berth, where he would never be disturbed. Clever.”

“Soundwave: Had no hand in Starscream’s condition.”

“But you could have told me sooner.” The Prime growled in his throat as he rummaged through the cabinets. Anything sentimentally valuable was gone, but there had been a welding cutter he had seen about. 

“Soundwave: Worried about the Prime’s reaction.” Soundwave’s visor dimmed. 

“Well, worry about it after I see what’s been done to him.” Optimus flung open the sealed lid and revealed the perfectly preserved frame of a Seeker. Even his colors hadn’t greyed in his silent death. 

Optimus felt coolant rise in his optics once again. The necklace he carried with him was in his servos in an instant and he leaned down into the deep, secret coffin to clasp it around his lover’s neck. “…I never stopped looking for you.” He whispered.

Soundwave looked bemused as the Prime caressed Starscream’s corpse. 

But Optimus’s fingers fell on warm metal, not cold, brittle stuff, but warm and pliant. He traced lips that seemed alive and his engine roared suddenly. “…That liar.”

 

Starscream held up the vial of white acid and considered it. Soundwave was no poisonous. There was not an ill-intentioned strut in his body. Soundwave was strong and true. 

But Megatron treated him the same way he had treated Starscream. Megatron treated him as it he were poison. A thousand little doubts began screaming in Starscream’s head all at once, because…

What if he wasn’t wrong? What if he had always been fine, and good, and strong, and Megatron was the one who was perverse?

Starscream went through his quarters and to the washracks. Looking straight into the mirror, he commanded his cockpit to open. He had never done this before. Never looked at himself. When he was young, there had been no need and he had never felt an urge. When he was experienced, he had thought himself rotten and been afraid to look and see exactly how it was so. Now, he held in a vent and stared as his armor slid away, opening up.

…He had almost expected to be covered with rust or dripping with corruption, but no. His spark was near blinding in its intensity. It was a clean, glowing white, and it was tucked within a silvery spark chamber, set over perfectly normal, even beautiful internals. He could see his gestation tank, whole and perfect, and down below it his energon processing system. There was, in short, no core of poisonous rot. Nothing to indicate he was anything but a Seeker: Capable of being a Carrier, capable of bonding with a loving mech. Capable, in short, of everything he had been told he was incapable of.

Most important: Capable of love.

And as he thought of it, only one mech had ever told him that. Only one mech had claimed to know him, to know every piece of him, and dismissed it all as rotten. And that same mech treated him as he had been for so long that Starscream had believed it, but he treated those the Seeker knew were not rotten as if they were. 

So… was the problem Soundwave? Was Megatron’s optic so discerning he could see rot that no one else could? Was the problem Starscream? Was it Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, and the rest of those who had known him who were incorrect?

Or was it the mech directly profiting from the “rot” he had “seen” in others?

“Well, are you going to drink it or not?” Megatron demanded, glaring at him. 

“You son of a glitch.” Starscream threw the vial at his optics, armor closing up neatly. “It was never me!”

Megatron knocked the glass vial aside. “Have you taken leave of your senses?!”

“On the contrary. I think I finally see sense.” Starscream’s optics blazed up with a well of hatred and rage and he flung himself at Megatron with a roar. “It was all you!”

Megatron knocked him back into the wall and kicked him to keep him down. Proceeding to beat the slim frame out of shape, he hissed with every motion, at the effort of keeping the Seeker down. Everything ruined by an uppity Prime and a spat in the Autobots. Of course.

In the end, Starscream lay still and Soundwave crept to the door of the chamber, trembling slightly as he looked down at the crushed Seeker. 

Megatron pushed open the lid of a chest built into Starscream’s berth. “Help me lift him.” He grabbed the Seeker’s pedes.

Soundwave was frozen briefly in shock, then rushed to help his master lever the dead or dying Seeker into it, then to weld the chest shut after.

“You are to mention this to no one.” Megatron poked Soundwave in the chest. “Or the consequences will be dire.”

“Soundwave: Understands.”

 

So, Optimus brought out Starscream, alive, and examined him. The optics and the jaw were clenched tight and there was a telltale hum coming from above a specific piece of his shoulder where Optimus knew stasis compartments were located.

“…You clever little glitch.” He cooed to the Seeker, kissing his forehelm. “You clever little glitch, you fooled him.”

He looked up at Soundwave. “Tell Ratchet to get the medical bay ready. We’re on our way.” And the Prime stood up, bearing a precious burden along with him, for the second time in his life.


End file.
